


Nobody's Perfect

by holmesian_love



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 50,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesian_love/pseuds/holmesian_love
Summary: Teen!lock AUJohn Watson starts at a new school. Trying to settle in and make friends is always difficult. Sherlock Holmes has never made friends and knows it's a pointless exercise but there is something intriguing about the new boy at school that keeps distracting him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 126
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

“Ok class, attention please. All eyes up here. That means you too Anderson,” the teacher directed to everyone.

The class gradually stopped their chatter to eye the young boy at the front of the class. Sherlock was the slowest to look, as he hated following instructions. He was however, transfixed when he saw the new student at the front of the room. Standing incredibly awkwardly and clearly very shy, was a short, blonde boy with the most stunning eyes he had ever seen. He may have been short, but he was well built, good shoulders, strong arms. His bag slung over one shoulder of his incredibly unattractive but somehow adorable jumper. Sherlock tried to deduce him but found his presence a little…murky. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He was clearly not from money. His clothes could have been old and well-worn or second hand. His faded jeans and very worn converse suggested he wasn’t one to focus on current fashion. And yet he didn’t look phased. He was shy, but his shoulders were held in a way that suggested a confidence. If you messed with him, he wouldn’t stand for being teased.

“Class we have a new student. This is…” he looked across at the new student, with a comical hand gesture, which made Sherlock scoff aloud from the back of the room.

The boy cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh John Watson, sir.”

“John Watson,” the teacher repeated as if he knew it all along.

John Watson looked about the classroom as a polite cursory glance, not really taking in anyone’s faces and returning to looking at his feet.

“John, head over to the spare desk there and get settled. I’m sure some of these lovely people will be happy to take you under their wing,” he said pointedly, and with great sarcasm to the class of teenagers just staring open-mouthed and non-communicatively at John Watson. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John Watson walked quietly over to the desk as the entire class glared at him. It was Sherlock’s worst nightmare, being watched so intensely, or having to be the new person. He preferred to stay well under the radar when he could. The desk was in the second back row, surrounded by other students who glared at him uncomfortably as he got out his text book, notepad and a pen.

“I’m Mike.” A friendly guy in the chair beside him reached out his hand to shake, leaning closer.

“Hi. John,” he said, shaking the offered hand, relieved that someone made contact. He smiled at Mike and his whole face lit up.

Sherlock couldn’t help staring from his position in the back row. It was like one of those moments where the clouds part and a ray of sunshine comes beaming down with the sound of angels singing. Like something out of a cartoon. Before he could look away, John Watson caught him looking, his eyes darting to Sherlock in the back row. He fired that magic smile, still on his face, right at him with eye contact included. Sherlock just about fell off his chair, like he had been physically shot in that moment. He looked down at his book quickly, swallowing hard at the intensity of the moment. How could one person have such an effect? Sherlock was intrigued but terrified all at once. He would have to stay away from this boy. It spelled danger to him, clear and simple. He very rarely found anyone interesting – not at this school, that was for sure. But something about this new boy had caught his interest straight away. And those eyes. Could he risk looking again? He couldn’t resist, letting his eyes flick up one more time, only to meet those blue eyes again, watching him, and he blushed furiously as he glanced back down at his book.

The rest of the class went by in a blur as Sherlock sat and sketched the eyes of the John Watson on his book. He had even curled out the letters for _John Watson_ artfully before he had even realised what he was doing. When he finally realised, the teacher’s voice bringing him back to earth, he tore the corner of his notebook page off and scrunched it up, placing it in his pocket in disgust. What was he doing? That was utterly ridiculous!

“Right class, you have your assignment to keep working on for homework. And read ahead to the next chapter before our next lesson. Anderson! Put that back for heaven’s sake,” the teacher yelled as students started rushing out of the room to lunch break.

“So, where did you come from then?” Mike asked John Watson.

“Oh here and there. My dad’s military, so we move around a bit.” John Watson said.

_Military family, interesting,_ Sherlock thought as he eavesdropped, packing his belongings slowly into his bag. He glanced up and once again, John Watson had looked over at him. He was feeling intensely self-conscious and roughly packed the rest of his things up in a hurry to get out of there before he had to make conversation or eye contact again.

“Well I’m happy to show you around, and you can sit with us at break,” Mike said generously. Sherlock felt a pang of jealousy that it was not his lot in life to be the generous friendly person offering to show the new boy around.

“Thanks, mate,” John Watson said his voice oozing relief and genuine appreciation.

Sherlock grabbed his bag roughly and started to walk out, through the space between the desks between the back row and John Watson, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Hey.” John Watson said in his direction, sounding friendly, his eyes following Sherlock as he sped past, hopeful for a response. But Sherlock put his head down and kept walking. No-one ever wanted to talk to him. It was probably a mistake.

“Don’t mind him, he’s always like that,” Mike said. Sherlock heard it but he couldn’t really get upset by it. Mike was right. He _was_ always like that. He was _known_ for that.

Sherlock the freak. Sherlock the loner. No point trying to be anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, tell me about that boy at the back of the room,” John tried to sound nonchalant as Mike showed him around the corridors and through the grounds. John didn’t want to focus on the school. Somehow his father had managed to wrangle him at a school that was far too prestigious for their income. The Principal served with him at some point and owed his dad a favour, or some rubbish John paid no mind to. Being the son of a senior military officer had all sorts of perks and pit falls he tried to avoid thinking about as much as possible. All he knew was, the glances he was getting from the students were positively offensive. It was like they could smell him at a distance. The smell of, “you don’t have enough money to attend our school” permeated every glance. Mike was the only one who seemed oblivious to the fact that John’s clothing was screaming “sad, poor loser” and he didn’t seem to care that he was walking around with someone like that.

“Who? Anderson? He’s an idiot, stay away at all costs,” Mike said absently, laughing to himself.

“Ander…no? Oh no, not him! The _other_ one, who didn’t talk to me at the end of the class,” John corrected.

“Ohhhh, right. Sherlock. Yes, he’s definitely…interesting,” Mike said, as he high fived a couple of boys passing them in the corridor.

“Sher…what?” John asked.

“Sherlock,” Mike laughed, “Sherlock Holmes. Quite the name isn’t it?”

“Mmmm,” John hummed in agreement, secretly repeating the name in his head a few times so as not to lose it. It was exotic and pretty fabulous really if he was honest with himself. _Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes._ His own name suddenly seemed so bland and awful. He felt a keen sense that socialising with someone who had a better name than him let alone probably a much bigger bank account was a ridiculous prospect, but he was instantly intrigued by the boy in the back corner, this _Sherlock Holmes._

“You’ll find that there are a few families in this school to be aware of. Sherlock Holmes is one of the wealthiest. He almost seems to despise that fact though. He doesn’t use it to his advantage. If anything, he resents the fact that he is even having to attend classes. He often ditches. But his family paid for the library. So, he has no choice but to be here. His brother was head prefect. Lots of pressure there. You can understand why he’s rebelling,” Mike commented, not even registering John’s interest as anything but mundane curiosity in the class freak.

“Right. Good to know. Sounds a bit terrifying actually,” John commented.

“He doesn’t really mingle. But people don’t generally mess with him either,” Mike replied.

“Okay, got it.” John made mental note that probably that was a no-go zone.

“There’s a few other families to be aware of. They’ll let you know who they are, don’t worry. They’ll either try to win you over to be in their circle, or they’ll bully you senseless. But they’ll mention the money. By the end of next week, you’ll know them all.”

“They can try to bully me. They won’t get far,” John said, chin in the air.

Mike stopped to look at him, taking in his defensive stance. “Hey. Don’t worry. You’re with me now. They won’t touch you when you’re with me. I’m captain of the football team. Most of them have no muscle, it’s all talk.”

“Right,” John nodded nervously. This was not his first new school. They had moved around many times and getting the lay of the land and which radar to fly under was becoming his personal super power. There was always a generous well-meaning good samaritan like Mike to show you around, sometimes because they were good, sometimes because they had an agenda. He knew how school ground politics worked, although admittedly this was the fanciest school he had ever attended, so he imagined the stakes were somehow higher here. He would tread carefully.

“Seriously, don’t worry John. Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mike kicked himself internally, “it’s just… well looking at your clothes, I’m gathering they will give you a hard time. Best you know up front what to watch out for,” Mike said sympathetically.

“Yeah, cheers. It’s good to know where I stand. I mean I was already self-conscious coming into this pompous school. Best to know I’m in for a rough start,” John said with a bit of false bravado.

“Honestly, you’ll be fine,” Mike reassured him and John felt he was genuine in his appraisal. “Do you happen to play? Football?”

“Yeah, I know how to kick a ball,” John said casually.

“Great. Well we just lost a player who got expelled last week - long story for another day - but anyway, we need another team member. Why don’t you come after school and have a kick around with us and we can see what you’re made of?” Mike offered.

“I don’t have any gear,” John said, realising how pathetic he sounded.

“There’s plenty of spares in lost property or whatever. The coach can kit you out,” Mike offered, trying to sound completely relaxed, like kitting out the poor kid was an everyday occurrence, when John knew in reality that was unlikely to be the case. He didn’t want to be a charity case but he also wanted to find a way to fit in.

“Okay, sure. That might be good. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to play, so I’m rusty, but I could use a distraction,” John said calmly, trying not to give away the nerves it made him feel.

“Great. So down on the fields after school? I’ll meet you there. Here give me your phone,” Mike directed, grabbing it out of John’s hand before he could even pass it over, entering his number. “In case you get lost.” And he passed it back to John with a smile. “I have to go see my English teacher about a late assignment. Will you be okay for a bit on your own?”

“Yeah sure, leave me to it, I’ll have a bit of a wander. I’ve spotted where my next class is so I’m all good. Hey Mike?”  
  
“Yep?” Mike smiled at John, and John realised he was lucky. Not every first day was this easy. Not every helpful guy or girl had been genuinely nice. Maybe this school wasn’t so bad after all.

“Thanks. For showing me around and giving me the “what’s what”,” John said a little shyly.

“No problem. See you this afternoon?” Mike checked again.

“I’ll be there, thanks,” he said with a smile.

And with that, Mike was gone, and John was left with the awkward realisation that he was very much alone and standing out in this corridor like a sitting target. He decided to head into the lavatory to at least escape the watchful eye of passers-by.

Upon entering, he was immensely relieved to see there was no one about. Taking one look at the location of the urinals, he opted for a closed stall instead. There was no way he could relax with his back unprotected like that, unable to see who was coming at you. It had become a habit at his last school as well. A locked door to protect him when his guard was down, was much more preferable to the alternative. Particularly on day one. He had trust issues at the best of times. Bathrooms were definitely no exception. He locked the door and went about his business and had only just finished when the sound of someone entering loudly caught him by surprise, the main door slamming roughly against the wall. He flinched even though he was in the safety of the locked stall and was relieved that no one had seen his reaction.

“ _You can’t be serious?!”_ the person yelled, kicking at an empty stall door beside his and storming across the tiled floor. “Come on brother, I’m not a child anymore! For goodness sake…”

John was terrified. This person was angry, _really_ angry. There was no way he could walk out now. So, he closed the lid to the toilet and sat on top, lifting his legs quietly off the floor as well to rest on the rim, and hoping this person didn’t notice he was in one of the stalls.

“…yes, well Mummy isn’t here is she? How could you do that? I needed access to that money. You’re unbelievable!”

John rolled his eyes. _Come to a wealthy school and it’s all about money. Typical. Who was this selfish entitled person? Mummy? Seriously who used that term?_

“…it doesn’t matter what the money was for, it’s not up to you. They were clear that you had to keep giving me an allowance and I’m due that money and I… ugh fine. FINE! Forget it!” and the loud yell was punctuated by the sound of a phone being thrown and bouncing back off the tiled wall. Followed by a loud sigh. The person turned on the tap and was mumbling quietly to themselves as they clearly were splashing their face with water.

John knew it was time to get to class and he really needed to leave but didn’t know what to do. Should he walk out and embarrass this spoiled rich kid in the midst of a domestic issue? Probably not a good idea if he wanted to survive the day. Or should he wait until this person left so he could sneak out unnoticed? Also not good to be late for class and have to be stared at again. Once was enough today.

Deciding to play it as cool as possible, he quietly stepped off the toilet and turned the lock of the door ready to sneak out. As he stepped forward out of the stall to find the taps, the person, who had been leaning on the sinks turned around dramatically on hearing the noise and collided messily with John who walked out too quickly.

“Oomph,” John let out embarrassingly, looking up to be nearly nose to nose with that boy with the strange name from his class.

“What the…” the boy began, startled, only to be silenced when he saw it was John, his eyes widening.

“Sorry, sorry,” John apologised awkwardly stepping back, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Were you… _eavesdropping_?” the boy looked outraged, his eyes narrowing.

“No sorry I was just…and then you just…and I didn’t want to…so I…” John stopped and looked at the boy completely humiliated and realised he was stammering like an idiot. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he settled on.

The boy looked at him with something that could have been rage, but was definitely not a _good_ emotion, saying nothing. He cleared this throat, straightened his shirt and turned to walk out without a word to John.

John rushed to the side of the room and grabbed the phone off the floor. “Uh, hey!” he called out, the boy stopping at the door to look back.

“ _Excuse_ me?” he said with a slight indignance in his tone.

“Your phone?” John offered, holding it out awkwardly.

“Oh. Right.” He walked over looking a little sheepish and grabbed it from John’s hand. “Thanks.”  
“I’m John. John Watson,” he said with a shy smile. “We had a class together before break?”

“I know.” The boy said simply before turning on his heel and walking out of the bathroom.

John was left watching the door swing shut, feeling completely mortified.

“Good one, Watson,” he said to himself under his breath in the empty bathroom. 


	3. Chapter 3

“That was awesome!” Mike said with excitement. “You’re actually good, mate.” He patted John roughly on the back which made him startle a little, but he managed to cover it well, so Mike didn’t notice. People usually didn’t notice.

“Well, I’m not sure if I’d say _that_ , but thanks for the vote of confidence,” John said with embarrassment. He had managed to play football at three of the last four schools and he wasn’t too bad, he had to admit. Good may be an overstatement but he certainly had tenacity and that counted for something on the field.

“The boys are thrilled – they all think you’ll fit right in, actually. You want to join us for a bite? We were all going to go out for a pint or whatever takes your fancy,” Mike offered, and John had to stop himself from feeling emotional that on day one he might have actually managed to make a friend, a group of friends. That hadn’t happened in a while for him.

John knew he should probably join in, make friends and be seen to be part of the team. But the nerves at the pit of his stomach told him it was not a good idea. He was expected home and he didn’t want to start anything with his parents on the first day. Not this time.

“Thanks, Mike, but I can’t today. Raincheck?” John said as naturally as he could.

“Yeah of course, of course. You take that gear home, it’s yours now. No arguments,” Mike said as John opened his mouth to speak. “Coach already told me to say so. Now, we train every second day after school, matches on a Saturday afternoon. We don’t have a match for the next couple of weeks though, so you’ll have time to get settled.” Mike wasn’t going to hear any disagreement on the subject, so John just stood and took the instructions. He was a good captain.

“Okay great, thanks,” John nodded, hoping his dad would be okay with all of that. He wasn’t going to tell Mike that.

“Do you need a lift at least or anything?” Mike asked him.

“No, it’s all good, thanks. I have to grab some things from my locker and then I’ll just get the bus. Thanks though,” John thought for a second about whether that might be a bad idea to delay himself further with the bus when he could get a quick lift home, but he didn’t want people knowing where he lived. It wasn’t a terrible house, but the military housing wasn’t anything special either and he felt self-conscious enough as it was.

“Sure, well anytime though. Let me know,” Mike had already started walking backwards, raising his voice to talk to John as he went back towards the sheds.

“Okay, I will, thanks. That’s nice of you,” John smiled shyly.

“Welcome John Watson! I feel like this is going to be a good year,” Mike said with a dramatic arm gesture and a big smile. John just shook his head and laughed to himself.

John walked up to the school buildings to gather the rest of the things he needed. How he managed to get so overloaded on homework on his first day, he didn’t know, and he muttered to himself as he stalked back in his dirty football gear, carrying his clothes in his arms. There were still cleaners moving about and the odd staff member still finishing up for the day, but otherwise the grounds had already become quiet. John felt a little uncomfortable being on the grounds late, when so few people were about. It was always hard in a new school knowing what was normal and acceptable. Some of his schools allowed students to wander, and John revelled in being allowed to stay late at the library or just to walk around the grounds thinking to himself. Anything to avoid going home. But other schools had a strict “go home” policy and being on grounds in the late afternoon could be detention worthy.

Finding his way nervously to his locker and grabbing out his bag and the books he needed, he thought through the first day - not horrendous, not amazing. Only a few comments about his clothes and his height and his parent income. He would have to endure that for the next week until his mum sorted his uniform out. But that was nothing new. Every school was the same. It just felt so much more humiliating at a school of this calibre. Mike was a god send and definitely the best thing about his day. It always helped when coming to a new school, to make at least one friend, especially someone like Mike who was captain of the football team. That was always going to help his status. That was the first time he had managed to befriend someone with decent status actually. And at a school where football was definitely important, and John definitely didn’t fit in, maybe this would be a better start than his last couple of schools.

As he loaded up his bag, John could hear voices down the corridor and he couldn’t help wondering who else was still here. He closed his locker, bag on his shoulder and edged his way quietly down the corridor to the corner and peeped around the edge. About halfway down the next corridor, was that boy from class, Sherlock, with another boy he had not seen before. They were standing very close to each other talking in urgent whispers and John definitely felt like he was intruding but he also couldn’t look away. Sherlock was definitely an enigma. Gorgeous in the extreme, a little exotic with the wild hair and pale skin. He was well groomed and wore his uniform crisply. The other boy had his shirt out and his tie off and was nowhere near as clean. Sherlock was taller than the other boy, but there was something almost threatening in the way he spoke to Sherlock which made John’s hair stand on end. He knew all about that, all too well. But at the same time there was something almost sexual in the way they were talking to each other. Perhaps this was a lover’s tiff? John blushed at the feeling that he was observing something very private, and something in his gut he couldn’t quite identify, maybe disappointment? Of course, someone as stunning as Sherlock would be taken already. He began to look away, ready to head out to the bus and stop eavesdropping when the sound of violence made him look back suddenly. The shorter boy had pushed Sherlock’s back into a locker threatening him, the front of his jumper scrunched in his hand. Sherlock surprised by the attack, shrunk down a little bit, his knees bending which only gave the other boy a better height advantage. He had leaned in to Sherlock’s ear super close. John couldn’t tell from this angle if he was whispering in his ear or kissing his neck. Was this just a passionate moment or an assault? Sherlock’s eyes were shut, and John couldn’t quite tell from this distance what was happening. His instincts told him Sherlock needed help though, his senses were very alert.

“Hey. Everything okay?” John said, stepping out from the corner and dropping his bag on the ground. Sherlock was looking down, looking defeated and John wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing or not, but he couldn’t stop now.

“Who the hell are you?” the shorter man asked. His dark hair was scruffy, and his dark eyes were dangerous, threatening. John gulped momentarily. He was probably a tiny bit taller than this boy and definitely more muscular but there was something very scary about him.

“John Watson,” John said, his voice surprisingly steady as it left his lips. Sherlock looked up surprised, his face looking concerned.

“You’re _new_. Clearly, or you wouldn’t approach me,” the boy said with a sneer, looking John up and down. John was suddenly very aware that he was standing in grubby white footy gear, his legs and probably his face covered in a bit of dirt. He had opted not to shower, so he could make it home in time for dinner. Suddenly he realised he was delaying himself anyway and now he would be late and grubby, and the pit of his stomach did a dance of anxiety at the thought before returning to the situation at hand.

“I _am_ new. Why? Should I know who you are?” John said with a sneer.

“Just leave it,” Sherlock said under his breath but loud enough for John to hear it. Was he talking to John or to this boy?

“Are you alright Sherlock?” He asked, trying to sound as if he knew Sherlock better for an advantage.

“He’s just fine. Do you two know each other Sherly? Already? You’re making friends with the new boy? Should I be jealous?” He asked with sickening delight.

Sherlock stayed quiet but shook his head slowly, looking down with dread. John recognised that look. The sense of dread when you wanted to avoid an attack at all costs. Complete defeat.

“How about you leave him be and move on, hey? I wouldn’t want us to have a problem,” John continued on despite the look on Sherlock’s face. He could see that whatever this was, it wasn’t a good situation and he couldn’t walk away now.

The dangerous boy sized John up and down, not knowing this new entity and seeing he was obviously strong enough to play on the football team which may not go his way. The boy let go of Sherlock, who set about straightening his hair and his jumper and standing up as if nothing had been untoward. The boy levelled a frightening glare on Sherlock. Despite being shorter, he clearly had the power in that relationship, whatever it may be.

“I don’t know who this new _friend_ of yours is, but I shall look forward to doing this again,” he said with a sneer, giving John the once over one more time, before turning back to Sherlock and running his hand sensually down Sherlock’s cheek bone to his lips. “Think about what I said, won’t you?” And with that he was off, passing John and deliberately running into his shoulder.

John let out a huff of air at the contact but stood his ground. For a moment he stood there watching Sherlock, who was not making eye contact. He just leaned back on the locker, his eyes closed and breathing to himself. He was blushing in response to the parting behaviour of the other boy, frozen to the spot.

John walked closer, “you okay?”

Sherlock seemed to snap out of it, a veil of confidence returning to his face. “Yep, fine. I’m fine,” he said in a rush, his chin pointing upward in defiant confidence.

“Who the hell _was_ that?” John asked, still looking Sherlock over, checking him for signs of any injury or issue.

“James Moriarty. Scum of the earth,” he said with a huff. He’s the year above us, a real treat.

“Right and you two are? What? Was that...is he your boyfriend?” John asked, trying to hide the jealous tinge he was feeling.

“What? No!” Sherlock looked at him in shock, before looking back at the ground embarrassed.

“I mean it’s fine. No judgement I just…” John fumbled.

“No. Nothing like that,” Sherlock corrected in a rush.

“Right, it just looked…”

“James likes to think he owns some of us at the school. He has a special…attachment to me.” Sherlock explained, which only confused John more but he felt it was not his place to ask about it further.

“Okay then,” he settled on, in response.

“What you did though, that was…good. Thank you for stepping in,” Sherlock finally said, looking John in the eye at last.

“No problem at all. I don’t like…well I felt you might need a hand,” John nodded, looking away. He could barely breathe with Sherlock’s eyes looking right into him like that. He felt like he was being assessed somehow and he didn’t like it. He was well practised at hiding so much about himself and this boy seemed able to read him.

“Thanks.” Sherlock said again awkwardly with a smile.

“If you’re okay, I should get going, I’m going to be so late.” John couldn’t help the anxiety that was clear in his voice.

“Oh please, yes go. Don’t be late on my account,” Sherlock said politely, looking John up and down and trying to figure him out. John gave him a nod one more time before turning to walk away.

“John Watson?” Sherlock said suddenly.

“Yes?” John turned back.

“Really _. Thank you_.” And he levelled a much more relaxed smile. Like he had finally recovered and actually meant it this time.

“Sure thing,” John said, returning the smile, grabbing his bag from the floor and then he was gone. His heart was hammering in his chest as he ran down the corridor to head to the bus. How was he going to explain this? He grabbed out his phone and there were already two missed calls from his dad.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. He was going to pay for that later.


	4. Chapter 4

John liked to arrive late to school, to avoid the awkwardness of not having anyone to talk to. He found his way into the English room for his first class of the day, and sure enough in the back corner, Sherlock was already sitting there too, deep in focus, reading. John stood in front of his desk to sort out his books before sitting, at least that’s what he was telling himself. He really wanted a chance to glance over and observe Sherlock a little bit, unnoticed. He wasn't bold enough to actually say anything to him. There was a spare seat beside him too but he could never be that self-assured, he just didn’t have that sort of confidence in himself. This was a safe distance to observe from.

“John!” Mike interrupted his thoughts loudly, walking behind John and slapping his hands on his back. John leapt out of his skin, flinching at the contact with a sharp intake of breath. Sherlock looked up and saw the reaction, his eyes narrowing in thought, before relaxing. John opened his eyes to notice Sherlock watching him and Sherlock gave him a polite smile before returning to his book.

“Jesus Mike,” John said under his breath. You’re going to kill me before my time if you make entrances like that all the time.

“Sorry mate, you okay? Didn’t mean to hurt you – get a bit bruised in the practice yesterday?” Mike asked casually as he sat in the chair in front of Sherlock.

“Yeah, must have. Like I said, it’s been a while. I’ll be fine…” John said absently as he came around his desk to sit down, taking a second to look back at Sherlock again first, although Sherlock was very focussed on his reading and didn't notice.

“How did you go with the homework? Did you get it done?” Mike asked, leaning across to sticky beak at John’s books.

“I uh… yeah I didn’t really have the book for the reading yet. Hopefully I don’t get called on. Mum hasn’t had a chance to get all my stuff organised yet,” John said a little embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any excuse and I didn’t do it either. If the teacher calls on you, I’ll pull the football card, say you were helping the coach or whatever. I’ve got your back,” Mike said with the air of a well-practised liar. John could recognise that a mile off, he was well versed in it himself.

“I figure I probably have a week of grace as the new kid, at least it usually works,” John said laughing awkwardly, but already feeling nervous inside about the prospect of being called on. He fidgeted nervously with his jumper awaiting the teacher to come in.

More students filed in, some giving him the once over he was so used to. One of the girls giving him a particularly more interested glance, which caught his eye. It wasn’t the usual judgemental look, more of an appraisal. Maybe he would have to get to know her better.

"Hey Mike, who's that?" John asked nodding in her direction.

"Sarah? Ah nice one, John. Good taste," Mike joked, "I can introduce you. She's nice."

John nodded, watching her get settled into her chair. She glanced back at him again and he gave her a smile, as she turned back shyly giggling to herself.

Finally, the teacher came in and the class started. John was distracted. He was focussed on Sarah, looking at her hair and the way it fell about her shoulders. But really that was a distraction from the pain in his shoulder blades. A distraction from remembering how he got in trouble for being late last night. By getting caught up at school, he had missed the connecting bus and arrived home after dinner was ready. His dad was happy he had made it to the football team, but not happy that they didn’t get a message about being late. The food had been overcooked because of him. He had paid for that. The bureau in his bedroom had caught his fall and given his shoulder blades a run for their money. More than any player on the football team had. John actually didn’t even like playing football if he was honest, but it was an excellent cover for bruises, that much was true. His dad wanted him to play football and so he did. No matter how many injuries he had, he could never seem to just switch his brain off to think of something else, anything else. He always spent the day after running through the things he should have done differently to avoid it, to try and be better next time.

“Anderson, what did you think about the author’s use of the theme in this chapter?” The teacher’s voice suddenly interrupted John’s thoughts.

A skinny boy beside him with greasy hair started fidgeting wildly with his notebooks. “I uh…well that is to say, I think it was very interesting, but I didn’t like how the author wrote in the first person,” he commented with a bit of a nervous stutter.

“As usual Anderson, always missing the point,” the teacher said with an eyeroll, “not what I asked…uh Watson what about you? Perhaps the new student can give us some insights?” The class turned to place their eyes firmly on him. He felt sweat instantly on his brow and the colour drained from his face.

Before he could speak, and before Mike even had a chance to step in and pull the captain card, the voice from behind them interrupted: “Sir, I think the more pressing question is, why the author decided to change themes altogether during this chapter don’t you think?” Sherlock interrupted loudly from the back corner.

John’s head snapped around to watch Sherlock in full flight. He wasn’t taking in any of what Sherlock was actually saying but his confidence and intelligence just sparkled. John glance up the front then at the teacher who was thrilled, leaning against the edge of the desk at the front of the room, nodding profusely and engaging happily in a battle of wits with his star pupil at the back of the room. John was fascinated, his head flicking back and forth between them as they discussed the finer points of the chapter. Sherlock was clearly the smartest person in the room and he felt such relief that he had been spared briefly. He looked at Mike who gave him a giant eye roll – apparently this was a regular occurrence.

“You’re absolutely right, Sherlock. In fact, let’s _all_ get our books out to discuss that as a class further and look at those finer points,” the teacher said with glee, to a couple of groans from the class. Anderson was looking decidedly annoyed, flicking a glare back in Sherlock’s direction which made John chuckle to himself.

“Actually sir, can I be excused?” Sherlock asked with an air of confidence John never felt he had with teachers. He couldn't help feeling envious.

“Certainly, you don’t need to go over it all again,” the teacher said proudly and turned his back to the class to write on the board.

Sherlock grabbed his things and began to edge out of the room between the desks. As he passed John, he dropped the book onto John’s desk and kept walking without a word. John was surprised and grabbed it assuming it had been dropped by accident. As Sherlock reached the door he glanced back at john who was holding the book up to him with his eyebrows up in question. Sherlock just gave a short smile, then winked at him, before exiting the room, leaving John completely shocked.

“Oh, I thought you said you didn’t have the book yet?” Mike asked John, oblivious to what had just happened.

“Yeah, I thought… looks like mum must have grabbed it for me after all. I guess…” John said absently, stroking the cover of it gently and smiling to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

The next class went by painfully slow and John's stomach began to growl, desperately ready for food. He had not been able to eat breakfast this morning. He hated mathematics and he had never been as good at it as he wanted to be. He had hoped to find Sherlock at this class, since he had left English early, to thank him for the book, but he wasn’t here. John couldn’t remember him being in Maths yesterday either, when he thought about it. Maybe he was in a different class? Where had he gone off to during English?

The relief when it was finally break time was so immense, he just about ran out of the room. As he moved around the corridors hoping for a sign of Sherlock, he realised how ridiculous it was. This boy fascinated him but there was no indication that he was interested. He still wasn’t entirely sure about this James guy and what was going on with them. The image of James putting his hands on Sherlock with familiarity and such ease coming into his head and making him feel a little unwell. Not that he had any right to feel that way.

As he came to an archway leading out into the quadrangle, he decided finding a nice spot on the grass to eat some lunch and enjoy the fresh air might be a good idea. From there he could watch other people and get his bearings. He didn’t really have people to sit with yet and Mike had already had to go to a meeting with the coach so he was all alone. He probably should make an effort to find some more friends but it was only the second day and he just wanted to be able to sit and enjoy some time to himself. As he walked along the neatly gravelled pathway, he spotted across the other side of the quadrangle, under a tree, that Sherlock was sitting alone reading. John was never good at making himself sit still long enough to read. He was always packed with nervous energy, and he felt a pang of jealousy at this boy being able to ignore the world around him and take in a book. He hesitated, not wanting to be presumptuous, but he did also have Sherlock’s book, which he should probably return. Perhaps he could at least stop by and say thank you.

John walked across the space, ignoring the stares and gossips of the others around him. He really hoped he would have a school uniform for next week. Standing out was not something he enjoyed. Usually at most schools, he could get away with his standard of dress. He was tidy, just a little unfashionable. Some schools didn’t even have a uniform and those were great. But at this school in particular, he already felt like he was offending the students and staff by not being in uniform. He sensed strongly that being dressed this way at this school, was unconscionable. He dropped himself down a little distance from Sherlock, not wanting to distract him while he was reading, but Sherlock looked up from his book at the movement, just for a second, before glancing back down. He gave a double take when he realised it was John sitting with him. He kept eye contact with John a bit longer, not saying anything, before looking down at his book again.

“John Watson,” he said, not looking at him.

“Yes?” John asked with a little laugh.

“The new boy,” he over annunciated as he turned his page.

“Yes,” John watched him, waiting to see what Sherlock was planning to say.

“How are you finding it then John Watson?” He asked.

“Finding what?” John didn’t want to sound stupid but he also didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“The school. Must be tough moving around all the time?” Sherlock continued to browse the book as he spoke.

“Uh…yeah, it’s not the ideal,” John said awkwardly, fishing some food out of his bag to stop his stomach from embarrassing him with an unnecessary loud growl.

“What is?” Sherlock looked up at him.

“What is what?” John repeated. This conversation was going around in circles.

“The _ideal_. What exactly is that?” Sherlock was watching him intensely, with interest it seemed.

“I don’t know. Making friends? Being able to keep up with school work? Not getting bullied everywhere? That would be nice,” John said with a shake of his head as he unwrapped a sandwich.

“You’ve fallen on your feet though – football team, friends with the captain. Can’t imagine you’ll be getting bullied that much,” Sherlock said as he looked back at his book, apparently not feeling any sympathy for him.

“Is that what that was the other day? James? Was that his name? Was he bullying you?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock didn’t dignify it with more detail, or eye contact.

“Your _boyfriend_ then?” John checked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“ _No_ ,” Sherlock didn’t look up but his brow creased in what looked a little pained.

“Oh, sorry. It just looked like…got a girlfriend then?”

“No. Not my area,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Oh, so...wait what?” John was confused, and was embarrassing himself with verbal diarrhoea.

“John what exactly are you asking?” Sherlock finally looked up at John again, a look of confusion on his face.

“Nothing, no…not asking. Sorry, I was just trying to figure out… never mind. Let’s just drop it,” John said, taking a bite out of his food again.

“I think that’s probably best,” Sherlock said returning to his book.

“I actually just came to bring back your book and say thank you,” John said, fishing the book out of his bag as he chewed.

“It’s yours,” Sherlock said without looking up.

“No, honestly, you don’t need to do that I just didn’t…”

“John Watson, my parents paid for the library,” Sherlock said looking at him, “ _the whole library_. I don’t need it, honestly. You have it.” He gave John a lovely smile, and returned to his book.

“Thank you. I don’t know what to…thanks,” he finished awkwardly, willing himself to stop talking so much. They sat there quietly for a bit and John began to feel like he was intruding and Sherlock clearly didn’t have more to say so he felt he should leave him alone.

“You can just call me John, by the way. I don't know why you keep using my whole name it's...anyway." Sherlock didn't say anything or make a move to acknowledge what he had said. "Right well then I’ll just…” John began to stand up.

“Sorry. You don’t have to go. I’m an asshole sometimes,” Sherlock said, “please, don’t go. I’m just not used to…people.”

John settled back down. “You sure?”

“Yes honestly. I just, I mean are you happy to sit while I read though?” He said it apologetically, as if he wasn’t used to sitting with friends and John felt a pang of sympathy for him. He seemed so unattainable to John, this attractive, wildly intelligent and confident being. The idea he would be grateful for John to just sit in the same space as him, took him a moment to absorb. He happily continued eating as he sat quietly, watching Sherlock read, but trying not to stare, a small satisfied smile on his face at just having someone to sit with.

“Have you got lunch?” He asked, out of interest.

“I don’t eat much, not while I’m thinking,” Sherlock said as if it seemed perfectly reasonable.

“Right,” he nodded to himself quietly as he ate. He took in the grounds around him. Groups of very civilised people sitting on benches, or on the ground, enjoying lunch. Their meticulous uniforms glowing in the sunlight and making John feel increasingly more insecure about his attire. He noticed a few people looking his way and pointing and he wasn’t sure if it was his appearance, or the fact that he had chosen to sit with Sherlock who was obviously a bit of an outcast himself. He cleared his throat as he turned back to look at Sherlock.

“So, if I can ask…you look…younger?” John asked tentatively.

“I am,” Sherlock said plainly, eyes on his book.

“Right so…” John waited for him to explain.

“I’m supposed to be in year 11. But they let me step up a grade because I was so far ahead.”

“Wow, well yes I have to say I noticed that in English earlier. You were…” John began.

“Obnoxious?” Sherlock said, not looking up as he said it.

“I was going to say brilliant.”

“Oh.” He looked up at John. “Thanks.”

“I’m supposed to be in year 13 but with all the moving about, I was behind. We had to move overseas for a bit too, so a couple of schools wouldn’t let me move forward yet.”

“So you’re a year older again? Well that’s got to be annoying,” Sherlock stated, giving John a sympathetic look.

“What about uh…James?” John tried to play it cool, but realised it was not a smooth segue and was probably far too obvious.

“You really can’t let him go can you?” Sherlock looked at John, curious as to what was happening. Did John like James? James was attractive, after all, and gave off that dangerous vibe people seemed to like. Sherlock had to admit to himself that he was caught up in that when he first met James too, before other things happened between them and he found out what James was really all about. Now he wanted nothing more than to keep John away from him. John gave him a look letting him know he wasn’t in fact, letting it go.

“He’s in 13th. I’m counting the days till he’s finished. Compulsory schooling has a lot to answer for,” Sherlock sneered but John noted something else in his tone, something that didn’t ring true. Was he really going to be glad to see James go?

“What _is it_ with you two? Is he an ex or something?” John asked, not thinking.

“Nothing. Really, don’t worry,” He fobbed it off with a float of his hand and returned to his book, signalling the end of that conversation. He didn’t like John’s fascination with James, not at all.

“Sorry I don’t mean to pry I just…after yesterday, I was worried, I guess?” John said a little uncertain. Sherlock looked up with eyebrows raised and John cleared his throat awkwardly at being caught out being sentimental over someone he barely knew. “So, what have you got next?” He asked redirecting the subject.

“Chemistry,” Sherlock answered, returning to his book.

“Oh me too!” John said way too excited, and then chastised himself internally for not being cool. “Want to walk back together?” He asked a little too hopefully.

“John I should be clear, I…uh, don’t make friends. I tend to focus on the work. It’s nothing personal,” Sherlock said uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact with him.

“Oh, sure, right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…I can just…” John began awkwardly, starting to get up. He shouldn't have pushed so hard. Why did he always have to be like this?

“No, I just mean. Um…” Sherlock began looking very unsure of himself, John pausing mid-way to standing to look at him. Sherlock took in a loud breath, “sure let’s walk to class together.” He smiled at John.

John smiled back and stood up brushing off his jeans and held his hand out to give Sherlock a hand up off the ground, a feeling of happiness settling in his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

Thursday 5:15pm

You left before I could give you a copy of the notes from the lab

Thursday 5:16pm

Wait…is that you Sherlock?

Thursday 5:17pm

Obviously.

Thursday 5:17pm

Right sorry, I had to run to get the bus home

Thursday 5:18pm

What’s the hurry?

Thursday 5:20pm

What do you mean?

Thursday 5:20pm

You were in a hurry yesterday as well. How far away do you live?

Thursday 5:21pm

Far enough. Missing the bus is not a good thing

Thursday 5:22pm

Right. Well I’ll email you the notes. You have to write up the prac for class tomorrow

Thursday 5:23pm

Oh yeah. Cool thanks. You need my email

Thursday 5:23pm

No all our emails are the same, and you're already in the online college directory too

Thursday 5:24pm

Is that how you got my number?

Thursday 5:25pm

No. numbers aren’t in there. I have methods

Thursday 5:26pm

Do you now? :)

Thursday 5:26pm

I might have :)

Thursday 5:27pm

Thanks for letting me sit with you at lunch btw. A bit intimidating being the new kid

Thursday 5:29pm

You’re doing fine

Thursday 5:30pm

lol I don’t think so but that’s nice of you to say

Thursday 5:33pm

sorry just helping with dinner

Thursday 5:35pm

what’s on the menu?

Thursday 5:35pm

my brother thinks he’s a gourmet chef, lord knows what it’s going to be

Thursday 5:36pm

lol I can’t imagine you in the kitchen

Thursday 5:36pm

Trust me it’s not by choice.

Thursday 5:37pm

You’re funny :)

Thursday 5:37pm

So what do you think about the book then?

Thursday 5:38pm

I’m lying in bed reading it right now. It’s not so bad

Thursday 5:38pm

Not bad????

Thursday 5:39pm

I’m not sure it all makes sense to me. Certainly not to the level you were rabbiting on about in class the other day

Thursday 5:39pm

I assure you I don’t rabbit

Thursday 5:40pm

You do a bit you know

Thursday 5:40pm

Fine. Are you really in bed?

Thursday 5:41pm

Yes. No not actually in bed, not like going to sleep! Just lying on the bed. Why? You want to know what I’m wearing? *wink wink*

Thursday 5:41pm

What?

Thursday 5:42pm

Never mind I was joking

Thursday 5:44pm

I don’t understand the question though. Why would I want to know what you’re wearing?

Thursday 5:45pm

Don’t worry Sherlock it was a silly joke. I was teasing

Thursday 5:45pm

I don’t get it

Thursday 5:47pm

Ugh seriously forget it

Thursday 5:47pm

You’re strange John Watson

Thursday 5:48pm

Are you going to call me by my full name forever

Thursday 5:49pm

I might

Thursday 6:52pm

Right well it appears my brother has started an oil fire in the kitchen so I better go.

_READ_


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock had gone to bed that night with a smile on his face. In all his time at school he had not made a friend, not a real one. Aside from James, but that didn’t count, of course. This new boy, this John Watson, was different. He didn’t seem like any of the other students he’d ever met. For one thing, he wasn’t completely repulsed by Sherlock. What was his comment yesterday? Brilliant? _Brilliant._ Even thinking about it made Sherlock blush a little and smile. He had a little spring in his step arriving at school. He always came late on Fridays – maths in the first period of the day. He always skipped mathematics and had made arrangements with the school after many arguments, that given his mother was a genius mathematician and Sherlock himself was well ahead on the maths, he could use that period for study or anything that didn’t cause any trouble. _Little did they know._ His family had inserted themselves into the annals of the school with copious donations and the full sponsorship of the library, so Sherlock felt that, while it was a little humiliating, it bought him a little bit of leeway with the staff and administration which he would use to his full advantage.

Of course, it was Friday morning, so he avoided the front door and headed down to the bathrooms at the far end of the school. His regular Friday morning appointment. It was out of view of the staff, just late enough that classes were in and he could move about unnoticed.

As he walked into the bathroom, the feeling of shame and the bubbling of regret in the pit of his stomach, from the inevitable bad decision he could not escape, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror on the wall and hated himself, just for a moment.

A head popped out of the end stall.

“Sherlock. What a lovely surprise,” he drawled.

“Shut up, James. Let’s just get this done, shall we?” Sherlock snapped.

“That’s no way to speak to your favourite person. You wouldn’t want to run out of options, would you?” He simpered.

Sherlock swallowed, stopping in his tracks briefly. The threat was always there, that James would stop, that _this_ would stop, and he really didn’t have any other avenues.

“Don’t be like that, Sherlock, I’m only teasing. Come into my office,” he said more congenially, opening the stall door.

Sherlock stayed where he was for a moment, thinking it through. Was he really going to keep doing this dance with James? Should he be trying to be a better person? To go clean? For a brief moment, John Watson’s face came into view and he really considered walking out. What would John Watson say if he knew about this?

“So, the usual amount, I’m assuming? You going to have some now?” James said, noticing Sherlock was losing his focus. He had the usual Friday morning twitch about him, but his mind was definitely elsewhere. James didn’t want to lose his focus for a second.He always knew how to draw him back in. 

“Yes yes, the usual.” Sherlock said rolling his eyes and walking towards James’ stall. “Although my stupid brother has cut off my funds this week…we may have to discuss payment…”

“Oh, how _is_ Mycroft? I did so enjoy banter with him!” James said with a laugh.

“He’s fine. He’d be thrilled to know we’re still doing _this_ ,” Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Gosh when did I see him last?” James asked, with enthusiasm, deliberately ignoring Sherlock.

“Probably back when I ended up in the hospital,” Sherlock said bluntly without blinking.

“Oh yes, good times.” James said with dark eyes and an evil smile. “He told me never to see you again. You’re right, he’d be ecstatic. We wouldn’t want him to find out then, would we?” Sherlock did not miss the gentle threat in his tone.

“Let’s just get on with it.” Sherlock was not in the mood for James’ teasing today.

“So, payment then…well I assume you’re happy with the usual payment plan then?” James said, as he closed the door to the stall and started undoing his belt.

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded. He hated himself right now. He had fallen into this ugly world when he and James had dated briefly last year, and he had never quite let himself step out of it. James was always amenable to an exchange, so Sherlock could get his fix and stay a customer. Sherlock tried to keep it as a cold and meaningless means to an end. But he hated himself all the same. His brain was always an out of control steam train with no end to the track in sight. James was able to give him what he needed. Focus and sweet relief, with his magic array of items for sale. Sherlock had been so much better at being able to make payments, until his brother had decided to cut him off. It was not like money was in any way an issue. He knew Mycroft wanted control in some vain attempt to ensure his safety.

He always knew that James was willing to exchange a quick fix of one kind for another. And Sherlock needed his fix, or he couldn’t concentrate. He could stop at any point, but a part of him had only survived school this long because of this, so he wasn’t ready to test the theory of what stopping would be like.

He had got very good at covering it up. So much so that even his brother hadn’t noticed. His teachers never did either. His parents were never around, so they were blissfully unaware. Sherlock had accepted his lot in life. He was able to go to all sorts of magical places in his mind palace to pretend it wasn’t happening.

It was almost a game between them. He would get to test the sample, enough to relax first, and then he would "make payment", whatever James wanted, and then he would have a stash to get him through the weekend and the rest of the next week. He just had to close his eyes and pretend he was anywhere else. Or with anyone else. Maybe John Watson could feature in his head today. The first person to be interesting enough to distract him a little bit. It was amazing how quickly the time could pass with a little distraction. Sure enough he just about blinked and James was smiling his smug smile and doing up his belt buckle again. He definitely enjoyed having Sherlock still on his leash.

“Always a pleasure doing business, _Sherlock_ ,” he leered, opening the door and walking out to the basins.

As he exited the stall, who should come into the bathroom, but the new kid. John Watson came bursting through the door as if on cue, as if the universe really wanted to be cruel today.

“Ah, _new boy_ ,“ James said with a sneer looking John up and down. Sherlock’s heart dropped into his shoes with dread. _Oh no,_ he thought, as he came stumbling out of the same stall and John couldn’t help staring, mouth gaping looking between them both for an awkward moment as they all stood there, giving John maximum time to make a million assumptions.

“Sorry, I just…I didn’t mean to…” John stammered.

“No need to apologise. We were just _finishing up_ here. See you next week,” he said to Sherlock with obvious glee in his eyes, stepping toward Sherlock, to run his finger down Sherlock’s cheek again in that way he did the other day. John felt physically sick to his stomach. “I’d love to stay and see how _this_ conversation goes," James gestured between them both, "but I have places to be.” And with that he walked out leaving John staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s hair was in a state, his shirt was not tucked in properly, his entire uniform was not in its usual state. And he did not look well.

“Are you…are you okay?” John asked, nervously.

“ _Of course you would be here._ Of all the bathrooms in the school! Why here?” Sherlock said annoyed. How could he recover from this? John was obviously thinking all sorts of things, not far from the truth and he was more humiliated and ashamed than angry but he lashed out in frustration anyway.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise these posh bathrooms had a personalised allocation,” John bristled. “I was just down at the football sheds putting my stuff in there for practice this afternoon, and these were the closest on the way back. I’m running late. I’ll remember these ones are off limits next time.” And he crossed his arms in a huff. Sherlock said nothing, as John looked Sherlock up and down before storming into a cubicle.

When he came out, to wash his hands, Sherlock was still standing in the same place, looking a bit shocked. He was not able to stand steady on his feet. “But seriously, Sherlock, are you okay?” John said, looking concerned now. The more concerned he looked, the angrier Sherlock got.

“I’m fine!” Sherlock yelled unconvincingly, the effort forcing him to stumble backwards into the wall, proving he was not, in fact, okay.

“Sherlock…”

“John. Please don’t look at me like that.” John noted his words were a bit slurred.

“What have you taken?” He asked, a little too intensely for Sherlock’s liking.

“Oh please, spare me your holier than thou…”

“It’s _Friday_ , for god’s sake. Aren’t you coming to classes?” John sounded so ridiculous.

“I never go to mathematics. We have an arrangement…” Sherlock began.

“Oh they know you come to the back toilets for a quickie and a hit instead of going to class do they?” John said, forcefully.

Sherlock looked at him, indignant, but realised that he had in fact done those things. And he sank down to the ground against the cold tiled wall, legs bent up head hung in shame.

“Hey,” John came over and sat down beside him. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t mean that.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I mean, it’s true, it’s pitiful really,” Sherlock said, avoiding John’s eyes.

“I didn’t…I shouldn’t judge. It’s not my place. I mean, I don’t know much about you at all.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s…nice actually. No one has ever really looked out for me before,” Sherlock said, touching his arm. John flinched and sucked air between his teeth.

“Oh, sorry did I…”

“It’s nothing,” John said awkwardly, sliding his jumper sleeve down further over his wrist, but Sherlock already caught sight of a visible bruise on his arm just above his wrist.

Sherlock looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. He was scruffier than usual, definitely seemed flustered. More than just a surprising moment in a bathroom would allow for. Something was going on.

“John…”

“Sherlock, it’s none of my business, honestly. I won’t say anything,” John promised, blushing a little.

Sherlock stopped and looked at him closely. Really looked at him.

“Are you going to skip maths too?” He asked.

“I can. If you want me to sit with you,” John said it with a little uncertain. He knew it probably wasn’t a good move in his first week but he couldn't leave one of his only new friends, who was obviously under the influence of something.

“You would do that?” Sherlock was surprised. No one, bar James, had ever skipped class with him before.

“I would. I don’t feel like going this morning anyway. I didn’t get the homework done last night. Things got a bit…tense,” John’s voice drifted off and his eyes glazed over.

“And by tense you mean?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing.”

“I suppose that bruise on your neck is…nothing too?” Sherlock gestured to the side of his neck where a clear mark was there. Sherlock was pretty sure they were finger marks. John grabbed at his jumper and tried to adjust it, lifting his shoulders to try and hide his neck. He hadn’t spotted that bruise this morning. Usually he covered them so well. Sherlock let out a sigh and rummaged in his bag.

“Don’t worry. Here…” and Sherlock took a scarf out of his bag and wrapped it around John’s neck gently. “Come closer,” he said as he arranged the scarf around his neck, to cover the bruise and still be moderately stylish. The close contact made John suck in a breath and hold it, scared to move or breathe. Sherlock’s long fingers working their magic with the scarf, managing not to even touch the bruise. Sherlock’s eyes were focussed solely on the fabric and John’s neck, but John could not take his eyes off Sherlock’s face. The way his brow creased a little as he concentrated. His lips pursed a little in thought as well. John wanted to touch that face. For a brief moment he pictured James and the way he caressed Sherlock’s face in a way that John really wished he could, and he felt embarrassed. Sherlock and James clearly had something going on that he didn’t want to talk about. And John had no right to get in the middle, or to be thinking these things. He shook his head to clear it of all the thoughts snapping Sherlock out of his focus as well.

“Sorry I just. This is great thanks,” John said awkwardly. Sherlock looked at John, really looked, while they were still sitting so close and rested his hand on the front of John’s chest where the scarf ended for a moment.

“You didn’t need to. You should stop giving me your things,” John said sitting back awkwardly, with a little uncomfortable laugh.

“It’s no trouble,” Sherlock replied, clearing his throat. “Better that you keep that neck hidden for the day.” He sat back as well resting his head against the cool tiles for a moment, with his eyes shut, his head still spinning.

“So is this…thing. You and James? The other day you said…” John tried to sound casual, but failed.

“Let’s not talk about him,” Sherlock was blunt but kept his position, eyes shut.

“But you have taken something. Does he…”

“John. It's off limits,” Sherlock said with a clear finality that he did not want to discuss it.

“Yeah okay. I just…I’m worried about you, I guess.”

Sherlock turned and looked at him, genuinely surprised but didn't say anything.

“What?" John asked, "do people not worry about you?” He couldn't understand why Sherlock looked so shocked.

“Honestly? Not really,” Sherlock said, taking in John’s look of uncertainty. “Don’t get me wrong. My parents love me, I know that. They are just busy. All the time. They travel around speaking at conferences and researching – well respected and published academics both of them. They provide for us well. My brother, well he’s older and working a lot too. Some government job he doesn’t really talk about. He tries to help. Sometimes manages to be an over-bearing big bother. But really, I’m left to my own devices. I mean I can’t complain. I’m getting an education at a good school, live in a nice house. I know I sound spoiled.”

“No. There’s something to be said for having present parents. Mind you, I’d be happy if my parents were less present, well my _Dad_ at least,” he smiled at Sherlock sheepishly.

“Was that your father’s handy work?” Sherlock asked gesturing to the scarf.

“No. I…” John was so used to making excuses it was a knee jerk reaction. He looked over at Sherlock and Sherlock gave him a look that made it clear he didn’t believe him for a second. “Yes. Ok. He just…he’s under a lot of pressure with the new posting. That’s all.”

They both sat there in silence together.

“So, do you do this every maths class then?” John finally asked.

“This _specifically_? No,” Sherlock sounded embarrassed. “Sometimes I go to the library to study, sometimes I sleep in.”

“God, I wish I was good enough at maths to just skip it,” John sighed.

“I could help you,” Sherlock offered. “I could tutor you if you need a hand?”

“You really are a genius, aren’t you?” John said shaking his head.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sherlock blushed, regretting offering.

“No, you are. You _clearly_ are. I’d be an idiot to turn that down,” he said with a smile.

Sherlock visibly relaxed and smiled as well.

“You know, it's not my place, but I think it’s a waste. Doing drugs is such a waste of your mind. I’d give anything to have what you have,” John lamented.

“Careful what you wish for. I can’t focus, John. For the longest time it’s always just been me, on my own. My brain races at a hundred miles an hour and there’s no stopping it. No one to distract me, or to understand me. It’s a lonely thing. The drugs quiet my brain, just for a bit,” Sherlock sounded sad. “They aren’t for the thrill or the rush most people take them for. They are to ground me. To keep me planted to the earth. I need them, like oxygen.”

John watched him speaking, his eyes took on a mournful, wistful quality and John wanted so badly to help Sherlock out of this cycle he was in.

“I can’t…imagine what that must be like for you. But I’ll sit with you whenever you want. If it helps,” John said calmly.

“You know what? I think it does help, John Watson.” Sherlock gave him a smile.

John looked at him and gave a half laugh. “Stop that,” he said, shaking his head.

“What? Calling you _John Watson?_ Does that bother you?” Sherlock said teasing, before dissolving into giggles, the drugs in his system finally lightening his mood.

John couldn’t help but join in. He marvelled at the fact that here he was on only the third day of school and he was spending his first lesson of the day, giggling on the floor with this unusual, fascinating and complicated boy. Things might actually work out at this school. For the first time in a long time, John thought things might actually work out.


	8. Chapter 8

Friday 6:00pm

Hey. John Watson.

Friday 6:10pm

Are you really going to keep calling me that?

Friday 6:10pm

Not good?

Friday 6:12pm

A bit not good yeah. Just John in fine.

Friday 6:13pm

Well then JUST JOHN, I was sending a message to say thank you for this morning

Friday 6:20pm

*facepalm* Sherlock! It’s fine. You looked like you needed someone to sit with you. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to talk to you the rest of the day though. It was a bit manic. Mike kind of grabbed me before I could come and sit closer to you in English

Friday 6:21pm

It’s okay. I mean, you probably don’t want to be seen hanging out with the likes of me when you’re on the football team

Friday 6:21pm

No that’s not it. I mean it just sort of happened. Sorry. I wasn’t deliberately avoiding you. Mike wanted me to meet Sarah and sit with them and then well I don’t know where the day went actually.

Friday 6:22pm

It’s fine you don’t have to explain. I just wanted to thank you for being so nice

Friday 6:30pm

I didn’t get to give you back your scarf

Friday 6:30pm

Don’t worry you can just give it back on Monday

Friday 6:50pm

Ok. I did plan to try to find you at lunch but things got away from me

Friday 6:52pm

Really it's fine. Sarah's nice

Friday 6:52pm

Oh you know her?

Friday 6:52pm

I know of her. I mean I know most people. I watch everyone mostly. I don’t know her personally. She seems nice enough.

Friday 6:53pm

She is.

Friday 6:55pm

She certainly seemed thrilled to be sitting with you in English…and in Chemistry...and History.

Friday 7:15pm

What is that supposed to mean?

Friday 7:15pm

Nothing. Never mind.

Friday 7:30pm

Hey I was going to go to the library on Sunday if you want to meet there and work on maths together? You did promise to tutor me

Friday 7:30pm

Is everything okay? You seem distracted.

Friday 7:31pm

I’m out with the football team tonight. We went out together after practice. Figured I should get to know the team better.

Friday 7:31pm

And Sarah?

Friday 7:32pm

Yes and Sarah

Friday 7:35pm

I see. I didn’t mean to disturb. Just wanted to say thank you for this morning.

Friday 7:40pm

Sorry I have to go Sherlock, but I’ll let you know about Sunday. Yeah?

Friday 7:40pm

Okay.

\----

Sunday 10:00am

Hey Just John

Sunday 10:15am

Just wanted to check about library today… do you still need tutoring?

Sunday 10:30am

That is to say, it’s okay if you don’t. Or if you made other plans. I’m just checking…

READ

\----

Monday 3:00pm

Just John…everything okay? I was worried when you weren’t at school today and I didn’t hear from you on the weekend. Just let me know you’re okay.

READ

Monday 6:00pm

Okay maybe I’m that annoying friend who is missing something here. I haven’t really had a friend to message with before. Or any friends really. Just let me know if I’m overstepping. But you looked after me the other day. So now I’m obligated to make sure you’re okay. That's all.

READ

\---

Tuesday 1:00pm

John. Seriously let me know what’s happening. I’m starting to freak out. Mike hasn’t heard from you either and he never talks to me. But he came over to ask if I knew anything. That means something is wrong. You missed football Monday afternoon. You haven’t been at school. Please just let us know you’re okay. Please.

READ


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday came and went. John didn’t message.

Monday nothing from John.

Tuesday no John.

Sherlock was worried. Really worried. He was genuinely surprised when Mike came to ask him if he knew anything. Mike seemed to know that he and John had been speaking at least. _Had John told him things? What did he know?_ It gave Sherlock a little boost to think that maybe John had told Mike they were friends. But he was incredibly anxious to find out what had happened to John. He was probably just sick – maybe he had a flu or something – but Sherlock’s gut was in knots all the same. He hadn’t known John very long. Most of his feeling had developed purely in his own head, from watching him at a safe distance. Listening in to conversations, observing him as he smiled and laughed with Mike and with Sarah, and with the football team. In the space of only a few days, Sherlock was completely smitten with John Watson. He was attractive in a conventional way and when he smiled the room lit up. Of course people wanted to know him and spend time around him. He glowed. Somehow, unlike most new people, that glow had made people like him despite his ratty clothes. He had smoothly transitioned in with the popular people. And Sherlock? Well Sherlock was always going to be the pale, awkward dark figure in the back corner, hiding in the shadows, watching from afar. That was where he was comfortable, where he deserved to be. John’s light was too bright for him. He knew that. Still, he liked that maybe they were friends at least. That made him smile to himself.

What would a friend do in this instance? When one’s friend was MIA? Surely he should be useful, helpful? He had never really done that before. He decided to quietly go about collecting work from each of the teachers. He took his notes to the library and copied them, making a little folder of work for John with all the notes and handouts. He would deliver them to John so he didn’t fall behind.

He would just have to suffer the torture of asking his brother to help a little with information and a ride after school.

\---

Standing outside John’s house, he took in the quiet, understated, unassuming little cottage. Nothing like the intimidating family home he had grown up in. He stood on the path at the bottom of the front stairs, just staring. The white paint was in need of renewal, but the garden was tidy. The front verandah had a little chair and table on it that one might sit at with a cup of tea enjoying the outside, if the street had been attractive enough to warrant it. The whole street was filled with houses of a similar age and style. Some were well lived in, toys on the front lawn, a sign that families were busily making their lives here. Others had overgrown lawns and weeds, their mailboxes full of pamphlets uncollected. As Sherlock stood there taking in the neighbourhood, his brother leaving him here to his task for a while, he wondered suddenly, if John was avoiding him because of what happened on Friday. Could he be embarrassed by Sherlock? Could he be upset that Sherlock wouldn't leave him alone? Did he even care enough to be either of those things?

Sherlock began to dread making the decision to come here. _What was he thinking? Was this the right decision?_ It did feel a bit stalker-ish to have figured out John’s address and be standing here with a pile of school work. _How was he going to explain this?_ His brother had been surprisingly un-opinionated, for now at least.

His biggest weakness had always been trusting people that seemed to be interested. With James, he had misread the situation in a big way, and had thought it was more. James had lead Sherlock on deliberately, and then humiliated him. Of course by then, the drugs were their binding factor and nothing else mattered. Sherlock could overlook a fair amount if it meant he could get that fix. But now he had a new interest. Now John was very interesting to him indeed. And suddenly he didn’t want to be tied to James or to the drugs. He wanted to find a way to connect with _John_. John seemed good, and seemed to care, but of course he had thought that before, and been wrong, and now John wasn’t replying to his messages. Was John trying to give him the message to go away, or was he unwell or in need of help? It was so hard to know. Sherlock prided himself on being intelligent. On being able to solve puzzles all the time. But John Watson was a much bigger puzzle than he was capable of solving it seemed. Where the heart was concerned, Sherlock had no experience, and not talent for reading the situation.

“Hello? Are you alright dear? Can I help you?” A lovely older lady had opened the screen door to the house, looking out at Sherlock, wiping her hands on the little floral apron tied about her waist. Sherlock was momentarily surprised, coming out of his thoughts and taking in the lady. He could see this was John’s mother. John clearly had her eyes and eyebrows, and her gentle smile - he could see the family resemblance immediately. Her greying-blonde hair framing her face with gentle waves. Her face friendly and expectant and kind. _Just like John._

“Oh yes sorry, I’m here to see John Watson,” he stuttered out awkwardly.

“Oh. I’m his mother. What’s this about?” She asked looking him up and down, and Sherlock realised she seemed a little nervous now, checking inside behind her, as if she expected she was being watched.

“Oh, sorry. I uh…Mrs Watson?” He checked to be sure.

“Yes…” she replied, still hesitant.

“My uh…my name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” he said holding out his hand to shake hers, but she didn’t take it. “I’m a friend of John’s from school. I’ve brought some homework he needed.”

“Oh! I see. Do you live near here too?” She asked suddenly a little friendlier, pushing the screen open more with her body to stand in the doorway and take him in properly.

“Uh…yes. Well actually no. Not really,” he corrected uncomfortably. “I was passing through and thought I should bring the work, so he doesn’t miss anything. He’s obviously been home sick, so I thought he might want to keep up.”

Mrs Watson gave him an awkward once over, not committing to anything which made the slightly nervous feeling in Sherlock’s stomach sink a little further. _What was going on?_

“Who is that, Mother?” A loud authoritative voice came from upstairs.

“It’s a friend of John’s from school,” she said in reply.

“A _what?_ ” The man called louder as he stormed down the stairs to see what was going on at the door.

“A FRIEND OF JOHN’S FROM SCHOOL!” Mrs Watson called louder, raising her chin so he could hear better. A stocky man, obviously Mr Watson, came down the stairs and walked to the door, pushing his wife to the side to take Sherlock in.

“This is…” she began nervously, realising his name was too difficult to remember.

“Ah…Sherlock,” he helped her. Mr Watson looked him up and down, a look of angry concentration on his brow.

“Are you that _faggot_ that’s been texting my son?” He demanded, stepping closer to assert his height over Sherlock.

“Sorry, I…pardon?” Sherlock was shocked, stumbling back away from the door and having to grab the railing so as not to fall down the stairs.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re the one who has been messaging all weekend. Were you the one he was out late with on Friday too?” He was not shouting, but Sherlock could definitely feel himself begin to shake a little. This man knew how to assert himself over people very well. The military training was evident in everything from his posture to his tone. He wasn't in uniform but even his clothes were pressed with precision, the shirt tucked tightly in and the belt firm on his waist. His appearance screamed military.

“Sorry I… I was just checking in on him, and delivering school notes for him. We were meant to work together on Sunday. I…I’m meant to be tutoring him.” Sherlock was annoyed at how much he was stuttering and giving in to the intimidation all of a sudden.

“My son doesn’t need a tutor,” he stated with finality.

“Ah, I think he’s probably a better judge of that than you. He has been struggling…” Sherlock tried to stand his ground even though his voice shook a little but was cut off promptly.

“Nonsense! Who _are you_? Are you stalking him? Does he even know that you’re here? Does he know you’re coming? He didn’t tell us about it,” Mr Watson demanded.

“Well I uh…that is to say…” Sherlock was so angry at himself. _Stand your ground! Stand up for yourself!_ He blushed furiously.

“Exactly. Get out of here. Boys messaging my son! Coming to our door unannounced! He’s not interested in… _that_. Go away!” He dismissed Sherlock cruelly, closing the screen door.

“Well can I…at least leave his work? It’s for school…” Sherlock began to pass the folder towards the door as if it were a peace offering. _What would John think of him coming and stirring up more trouble? Was he upstairs listening to all of this?_

“That’s enough, dear,” Mrs Watson scolded at her husband. “Leave this poor boy alone. He's just doing John a favour. Go and put the telly on,” Mrs Watson said gently, although a little nervously.

“He’s not here anyway! He ran off. Because he’s weak. He’s _weak_!” Mr Watson said as he walked away from the door, giving Sherlock one final glance.

“I’m so sorry, dear. Please just…I’ll take that, give it to me,” she said, embarrassed, opening the screen door again to grab the folder. “I’ll let John know you stopped by. I’m so sorry.” And with that, she closed the screen, and the main door and Sherlock was left on the front step, completely shocked.

Now he was really worried about John. He walked down the stairs a little stunned and then, he didn’t know why but his feet found the ground and started running. He just needed to run off this energy in his gut, this horrible feeling of dread, and of adrenaline and he didn’t understand what it was, but he needed to _run_. No wonder John had disappeared. A little bit further down the street he turned the corner into a laneway. He needed to call his brother to come back for him, but right now he had to get rid of this feeling before he could let his brother see him. Mycroft would read it all over his face and he didn't want to have to explain that.

As he turned into the laneway, he stopped up short as his eyes caught a glimpse of something. Halfway down, crumpled on the ground, was John. Sherlock had almost missed him, an overgrown climbing vine covering the brick wall of the laneway providing an almost camouflage for John.

“ _John_ …” he whispered to himself with relief, and without thinking he walked quietly towards him. John was sitting, knees bent up, head down and his arms protecting his head. Sherlock edged closer, not wanting to startle him.

“John?” he said gently as he got closer.

John looked up with a fright and before he could stop himself, they had made eye contact. John had a huge bruise over his right eye, which was clearly a few days old now and had really started to colour in shades of black and purple. His lip was freshly bleeding and swollen and his cheek was red. Obviously a fresh injury. Sherlock stopped still. John had been crying, that was clear.

“ _Oh John.”_ Sherlock said with remorse, shaking his head in sympathy as he took in the sight of him. His arm looked bruised too now that he had lifted his head off it.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, his voice rasping from the tears, confusion clear on his face. “You don’t live around here do you?” he sniffed loudly.

“No, I…well I brought you some school work,” Sherlock said. It sounded ridiculous now that he said it out loud.

“You shouldn’t have come,” John said flatly. “You should go.”

“I was worried. I hadn’t heard back and I…” Sherlock felt incredibly embarrassed. He really did feel like a stalker. He was intruding. _What was he doing?_

“Get out of here, Sherlock. Go away!” John yelled suddenly, putting his head back between his arms and beginning to cry again.

Sherlock stood there looking at John, his heart hurting. No wonder John had stayed away from school looking like that.

He _could_ leave. He probably _should_ leave. That’s clearly what John was asking him to do and he didn’t really know John well enough to push those boundaries yet, but on the other hand…on the other hand, John had sat with him when he was a mess last week. This was what friends did. It was his turn to sit with John. Instead of walking away, he made the decision to come closer and he sat down beside John quietly, not saying a word.

John turned his head and looked at Sherlock, resting his ear on his arm.

“How did you know where I lived anyway?” He asked suddenly.

“You really want to know?” Sherlock asked tentatively.

John nodded, sniffing again, and wiping at his face. The contact with his bruises making him wince and Sherlock winced sympathetically with him.

“I was going to ask if it hurts, but I guess that’s a silly question,” Sherlock joked gently, avoiding answering John's.

“Sherlock…how?” John pushed.

“Well…I figured…you’re a military family, I heard you tell Mike that. You need to take two buses to get home. I’ve seen which stop you get on at from school, so I knew which direction and probable area to look in. We all know where the military housing is around here – lots of kids come from there to this school, if they’re smart enough. And I figured, one of your parents would be high up in the military to either have the funds, or have the pull to get you into a prestigious school like ours. So, you’d have to be living in one of the nicer houses here. Yours is clearly the latest house in the street to be newly occupied, since you’ve only just arrived. There’s newly mowed lawn. No mail overflowing in the mailbox. Easy.” He finished and looked at John who was staring at him. Sherlock's stomach suddenly lurched. He usually kept his deductions to himself.

“Fantastic,” John said.

“Really?” Sherlock was confused.

“Yes of course it is. Surely you know it is?” John asked, equally confused.

“That’s not what most people say,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Really? What do _most_ people say?” John asked, intrigued. Sherlock was really quite a character.

“Piss off,” Sherlock said, with a roll of his eyes.

John took him in for a second. He looked Sherlock’s face up and down to see if he was serious, before bursting out laughing. Sherlock smiled at him.

“Ow,” John reacted.

“Ooh,” Sherlock winced again, “Sorry.”

“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts,” John groaned.

“That’s a nasty bruise,” Sherlock nodded at John’s eye.

“Oh it’s less the face, more the ribs,” John explained.

“Jesus, John. _What the hell_.” Sherlock let out. He wasn’t prone to swearing but what kind of parent would do this to their child? He was suddenly sick to his stomach. And angry at himself for not standing his ground better with Mr Watson. How much he would love to return the favour and give back all of what John had received.

“It’s not normally this bad,” John tried to justify.

“Is this…is this my fault? For texting you?” Sherlock suddenly felt incredibly guilty.

“Oh god no. No, Sherlock.” John reached out and touched Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly fixed to the spot that John’s hand had made contact and kept staring there as John spoke, “I stayed out with the boys on Friday. Later than I should have. The text message I sent my mother didn’t go through apparently. I got home late and dinner had been ruined because they waited.”

“But your Dad said…”

“You saw him?” John looked surprised, a little scared.

“Yes, he seems… _lovely_ ,” Sherlock said, sarcastically.

They both couldn’t help laughing at that again. John winced at the pain, but couldn’t help feeling happy at the same time, that he had someone to talk to. This was the first time he had a friend who knew. Who had seen things at their worst. He normally kept things so well covered up. Things had never quite been this bad before. His dad was more stressed in this posting than he had ever been. It was his own fault for staying out late. He knew not to do that, but just this once he had wanted to make friends, to fit in. The relief it brought him that Sherlock not only knew, but had stayed, was immense.

“The texting didn’t help, to be fair. It just fuelled his paranoia that I was hiding something. I couldn’t come out on the weekend looking like this though, could I? Normally I would blame football for my bruises, it's a good cover story, but the football team would know this is not from training. Not this week at least. I thought it was best if I just stayed home. Until the bruises settled a bit.” John sounded so apologetic and it made Sherlock angry.

“God John, I’m so sorry.” He had caused some of this, even if John wouldn’t let him take the blame. He felt responsible.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I think your Dad might think we were on a hot date Friday night. That didn’t seem to please him,” Sherlock tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Great,” John rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Sherlock was so embarrassed. Not only because he had maybe made things worse for John, but because _god help him_ , he would have loved to have actually been on a hot date with John and now, he had made a joke about it. And John was clearly not interested. And it hurt.

“No. Not your fault. Really, Sherlock.” John was annoyed.

Sherlock could tell. He needed to fix this for John. "You should tell him you were out with Sarah. Which you were, right? That would be more acceptable to him, wouldn't it?” Sherlock offered, assuming that would help. John nodded quietly, not saying anything. They sat in silence together for a little bit.

“He called me a faggot.” Sherlock said, looking at the ground in front of him, trying to remember when he had last even experienced that kind of treatment. “I didn’t even know people still talked like that.”

“God, I’m sorry,” John looked at Sherlock and the look on Sherlock’s face made John feel awful. “That’s my Dad. He’s…well there’s no excuse for him, really. I’m so sorry.”

They sat together in silence again. Sherlock didn’t know what else to say. He had made a mess of this, and John would not want to spend time with him now. Who would want to spend time with a loser drug addict, with a creepy ex, who stalks people?

John was sure he had lost yet another friend. How could Sherlock want to spend time with someone who lived in the crap part of town with a homophobic abusive military Dad? Who would want that as a friend?

“I shouldn’t have come,” Sherlock said guiltily, standing up and brushing off his pants and jacket suddenly.

“I…thank you for bringing the work. That was really nice,” John said, not wanting Sherlock to go, and trying to stand quickly as well. He smarted at the pain in his ribs, letting out a loud groan and Sherlock leaned forward to help him up. John took a second to steady himself on his feet as Sherlock watched arms protectively waiting in case he needed to catch him if he lost balance. They both stood there awkwardly, not making eye contact.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your messages. I just didn’t know what to…” John began.

“John, it’s okay. You had other things to be worrying about. I shouldn’t have pushed,” Sherlock placated him, “I’m not very good at this.”

“At what?” John asked, the confusion clear in his features.

“Being friends,” he replied, looking John in the eyes. 

The look John saw there made him sigh. John’s mouth curved up into a gentle knowing smile. “You’re better at it than you think,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

Thursday 8:00am

Morning Sherlock.

Thursday 8:00am

Good Morning Just John.

Thursday 8:01am

Lol you’re really keeping that up?

Thursday 8:01am

Keeping what up?

Thursday 8:01am

Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you. For yesterday.

Thursday 8:03am

And also to let you know I’m staying home for today. I’m hoping to be back tomorrow though.

READ

...

Thursday 8:25am

Sherlock?

Thursday 8:25am

I was worried you might not want to talk to me

Thursday 8:26am

Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?

Thursday 8:26am

I don’t know. For interfering? For finding where you live? For seeing you like that?

Thursday 8:28am

I was worried you might not want to talk to ME

Thursday 8:28pm

Don’t be ridiculous.

Thursday 8:29am

Even after seeing all of that?

Thursday 8:29am

ESPECIALLY after all of that. Now I know you’re interesting

Thursday 8:30am

Lol. Thanks. I think. You should be going to class now! I’ll see you tomorrow Sherlock.

Thursday 8:31am

Ugh class. Boring.

Thursday 8:31am

You can do it :)

Thursday 8:32am

Stay safe John.

John smiled at his phone. There was something about Sherlock that intrigued him. He had never really had a friend like this before. Not for a long time. Oh Mike was also nice and he was good fun, in a football playing, save-you-from-eating-alone kind of way. But _Sherlock..._ Sherlock had now seen him in all his dirty reality. At his worst. In the space he had always kept hidden from his friends before. Sherlock had got closer than anyone else ever before. Sherlock had faced off with John's parents and survived - and stayed. He had seen John with bruises and wasn't freaked out. And he didn't expect John to be smiling and perfect...and fake. Around Sherlock he felt like he could just...breathe, just be himself. John took a couple of long cleansing breaths to appreciate that feeling for a second. Yes, around Sherlock he could be himself. He was determined to make it to school tomorrow. The bruise on his eye had settled a bit. The lip wasn't as swollen today so it wouldn't look to obvious. Perhaps a fall off a bike would explain it? He was pretty good at stories and lies now. So much so, that he had almost forgotten the truth some days. 

He had always found a nice, attractive girl at each school to attach himself to, which is what normal teenage boys should do - especially ones on the football team. It was always more acceptable to his parents that way. Someone just like Sarah. Who was perfectly lovely, and beautiful. John was definitely attracted to her. But he had also always known he was bisexual. Or certainly something other than completely straight. He never allowed himself much time to ponder on it, though. As long as he was under his father's roof, none of that was going to matter. He had to maintain a persona and just get through to graduating first. Then he could move away and do whatever he liked.

There had been other boys at other schools, that he had found attractive from a safe distance. He had never allowed himself to get close enough to explore it, though. Never anyone quite like Sherlock. Sherlock made his heart beat faster. Sherlock made his mouth go dry. Sherlock made him lose track of the words in his head. But at the same time Sherlock made him feel invincible. He wanted to leap tall buildings to impress Sherlock. Was it dangerous to get this close to someone that he wanted this much? He wished he was better read, and better at maths so Sherlock would find him...well Sherlock _had_ just said he was...interesting. John re-read the texts again. _Now I know you're interesting._ He smiled to himself. Sherlock thought he, John Watson, was interesting. He didn't know quite what that meant. But he knew one thing: he was not going to be able to stay away from Sherlock Holmes.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had tried very hard to focus at school on Thursday and not text John the rest of the day. He didn’t want to be the cause of any issues for John that might mean he wouldn’t be back at school again. John probably had much better things to do than spend his time texting with Sherlock anyway.

Just the same, he was excited that he might see John today. He spent longer than he should on his hair, trying to tame the curls without looking like he had _tried_ to tame them. He used his whitest school shirt and even ironed it. He took extra time to make his tie as perfect as he could. It was ridiculous. John wasn’t interested in him. Not in that way. He was clearly making a play for Sarah. Sarah was conventional and beautiful, and smart but demure. John would appreciate the way she giggled at his jokes. Sherlock had seen her touch his arm as she laughed at something he said in lunch break the other day. She gave him her undivided attention like he was her whole world. Sherlock felt a sudden pang in his chest like the one he had the other day, as he had sat off to the side under his tree and watched them at a table across the quadrangle.

How he wished John would sit with him and they could be like that. In the fleeting moments they had together, Sherlock felt like John really wanted to spend time with him. No one had ever given him that kind of attention. But Sherlock knew he was reading too much into it. He was displacing his own desires onto the situation and imagining things that weren’t there. Then again, what had John said to him the other day in the alleyway? _You’re better at it than you think._ Had he really meant that? Was Sherlock better at being a friend than he had realised? He had barely done anything. What had John meant? Maybe John had trouble connecting with people too. Sherlock supposed that travelling from school to school would be hard, although in a way he thought it would be a fantastic way to avoid having to make friends. He always felt embarrassed that in all his years, staying at the same school, he had not made any real friends. He liked it that way, he liked his solitude. Most people were annoyingly stupid anyway. But he had always thought it would be nice to have one good friend, at least. Just one. Maybe John could be that friend for him. He knew nothing romantic would come of it, so he could settle himself with just being friends. He would have to be careful to not be too much of…well _himself_. He had a tendency to drive people away. He knew that.

Walking into the school grounds, for his usual "Friday meeting", he was deep in thought, not paying attention, looking at the ground. It was cold this morning. The grass had early morning condensation on it, and Sherlock observed how the droplets from the grass touched the edge of his leather shoes and ran off the protective coating back to the ground again. He had come earlier than usual, his excitement and nervousness getting the better of him. He was happily daydreaming as he walked.

“Morning,” a familiar voice said, snapping him out of his daydream. He looked up and there, leaning against the brick wall, was John Watson. As if he had willed him into existence, right in front of him. He couldn’t help smiling. “You’re early,” John said.

“Were you waiting for me?” Sherlock said, glancing around behind him as if someone else might be there.

“Well, it’s Friday. I figured you would be here eventually.” John left the statement to float in the air. Sherlock knew he was referring to his usual appointment with James, but he was clearly respectful enough not to mention it. “Thought I’d try and catch you before you…did anything you shouldn’t.” John smiled gently.

“You were going to wait here until I passed by?” Sherlock asked.

“I wasn’t sure what time you normally get here so I got the early bus.” He shrugged as if this was not a big deal. He travelled a fair way. It was a big deal to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t know what to say, or how to respond. John was in his own gentle way, trying to help Sherlock.

“Your face is looking…better,” Sherlock said, changing the subject, gesturing to John's bruised eye.

John blushed a little looking down. “Yeah, it’s cleared up enough to warrant being seen in public. I’ve put a bit of make up on it. I hope it's not too obvious?”

Sherlock looked at it closer, and John adjusted his cheek in the light so Sherlock could see it, grimacing a little with the embarrassment.

“I think it will pass,” Sherlock said with a nod. John smiled at that.

“So what did you have planned then? Once you found me?” Sherlock asked. This was new territory for him.

“Well, I thought we could go to the library and you could start helping me with this bloody assignment, like you promised,” John scoffed, but the look he gave Sherlock was gently pleading.

Sherlock nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. I mean, I tried to help this guy, but the slack git never turns up.” They both giggled at that for a moment. Sherlock could tell John was relieved that the mood was lightened. 

“Great.” John picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He caught Sherlock glancing further down the building to where the lavatory door was.

“You don’t _need_ that, Sherlock. Let’s just go, hey?” And he grabbed at Sherlock’s elbow and pulled him in the other direction. Sherlock looked down at where John had touched his arm, as if he were in a trance, confused by the contact and how readily John had done it. “ _Come on._ ” John encouraged more. Sherlock gave the bathroom one more glance and then followed John back towards the library.

“John I…” Sherlock began, hands in his pocket as he walked.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to explain anything to me. No judgement.” John didn’t look at Sherlock, just focussing instead in front of them as he walked.

Sherlock stopped and grabbed at John’s arm to stop him walking further.

“No. I feel I should, though, John. The thing is…James and I…we…that is to say, we used to…and then…” _Why couldn’t he finish a sentence?_ It was frustrating how much he wanted John to like him.

“Honestly, Sherlock, it’s none of my business. We’ve seen each other at our worst I think, in the last week. Nobody’s perfect. _Nobody_. And you came and tried to help me the other day. So now I’m trying to help you. You’re in a pattern. This is your Friday morning routine. For whatever reason. I get it. Now I’m making a new routine with you. Spend Friday mornings with me. Helping me. You don’t need to do that…other stuff.” John gave him a smile that lit Sherlock up from the inside. It gave him something new…hope? Maybe he could change his routine.

“I should warn you, James won’t be happy,” Sherlock said with a worried look.

“Well James can take that up with _me_. I’ve had about all I can take of bullies this week and I’m ready.” John’s voice was suddenly quiet and menacing.

“I believe that,” Sherlock said, watching John.

They stood there, just looking into each other’s eyes. Sherlock felt electricity there, an intensity he could not get enough of. All desire for the drugs and the rush gone. John was right, he didn’t need that when he had this. _This_ was so much more exciting. Whatever this was.

\---

  
They sat for the first hour of the day before school in the library, Sherlock explaining the assignment to John and watching John closely as he wrote notes down. Sherlock loved the way John’s brow creased as he concentrated, his eyebrows moving in so many different ways as he tried to absorb all of the information. Every now and then he would get this look on his face that Sherlock couldn’t read. Maybe he was impressed? Surprised? Sherlock couldn’t place it. But it made Sherlock’s heart jump an extra beat every time John did it. Sherlock was sure there was a blush on his cheeks that he couldn’t control. At one point, John leaned closer to point to something in the text book which was on the other side of Sherlock, his body heat invading Sherlock’s space, his deodorant scent seeping into Sherlock's nostrils. John’s finger accidentally brushed against Sherlock’s as he pointed to the spot where Sherlock’s hand was resting on the text book, to ask a question. Sherlock lost the ability to talk for a moment, swallowing hard before he could go about explaining it. _This was ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. It was dangerous. Getting this attached to someone. But it felt so great at the same time. He couldn't stop.

The morning bell rang, interrupting the moment.

“Gosh the time went fast,” John exclaimed.

“Yes…yes it really did,” Sherlock said absently, sorry that the session would be ending.

“So, are you going to come with me to maths today? What do you think?” John asked, his face open and so hopeful.

“I told you, I don’t have to go. We have an arrangement.” Sherlock thought about it, seriously considered it.

“Sherlock…”

“What?”

“I…” John suddenly looked really uncomfortable.

“What, John? What is it?” Sherlock was worried.

“I don’t want you to stay out of class, in case you’re tempted to…” he cleared his throat. “I want to make sure you don’t go and see James. Will you come to class with me today? Just for me?”

Sherlock’s heart ached. John was trying to protect him. He wasn’t worth this much effort but the gesture was sweet.

“I’m just going to duck to the loo. Don’t disappear on me okay?” He said, waiting for Sherlock to nod silently.

“I’ll pack up the books, you go.” Sherlock smiled.

\---

John walked over to the library toilets, pushing through the door and heading inside, his head full of Sherlock. He was a genius. An _actual_ genius. He was so shy and unsure of himself but he was the smartest boy John had ever met. He rattled off the information as if it was third grade maths and not full blown calculus. Unbelieveable. And once he got going, once he wasn’t embarrassed to show off his knowledge, well it was a sight to behold. John couldn’t help staring. He was in trouble. He was in serious danger of falling for Sherlock. Everything about him was invading his thoughts, his bloodstream. He wanted to breathe Sherlock in. He wanted to wrap himself around Sherlock and protect him and never let go. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice the other person in the bathroom when he entered. He went into a stall as he usually did and when he was done, and he came out, he jumped in fright. James was leaning against the tiled wall.

“You’re bad for business, John,” he sneered.

John avoided eye contact and washed his hands at the basin, not dignifying James with the acknowledgment. “I have no problem with that,” he replied.

James showed no emotion. “You know he won’t love you back, right?” His voice was cold, calculated.

“Sorry?” John shook his hands in the basin and looked at James properly.

He deliberately didn’t do his tie up all the way as he should, opening his top button and letting the tie hang down lower. The bottoms of his white shirt hanging out of his jumper. The hems of his trousers slightly frayed. James Moriarty was clearly rich, and arrogant enough to flaunt the rules and the dress code and not care about the consequences of that. He imagined James had a lawyer father who would argue his son’s freedom of expression was being stifled if the school threatened detention. Not that John could judge clothing. He still didn’t have a uniform yet and although people had stopped staring as much, he knew he was still being silently judged for his lack of style.

“He’s damaged,” James finally let out, watching John closely for a reaction.

“Why don’t you just keep your nose out of my business? _And_ Sherlock’s for that matter,” John retorted.

“I’ll wait till Sherlock _tells_ me to, but it’s sweet that you’re being so protective. You’re like a puppy. I can see why he likes you so much.”

“It’s not like that,” John bristled.

“Oh? Isn’t it?” James looked him up and down, his smile clearly showing he was aware of more than John had realised. “You can’t be everywhere John. You can’t watch him all the time. And trust me, I’ll be waiting.”

“We’ll see,” John wasn’t going to give James any more of his oxygen. He stormed out of the toilet door and straight into Sherlock’s chest.

“Everything alright?” Sherlock said, stepping back awkwardly.

John blushed. “Yes, fine. Everything’s fine,” he said, as he absently glanced back toward the toilet door. “Let’s get to class.”

Sherlock followed John out of the library, but he didn’t miss the worried look on John’s face. The crease in his brow was not the adorable thinking crease from before, more one of deep concern. Sherlock didn’t say anything, but he knew he wanted to do whatever he could to not be the cause of that look. Maybe John was right, Nobody was perfect. But in Sherlock's eyes, John Watson was the closest thing he had found to it.


	12. Chapter 12

The next week went by so quickly, but each day Sherlock and John would meet early and go to the library, working on the maths assignment together and enjoying time spent getting to know each other. Sherlock felt guilty that he was there under false pretences and was really just indulging his own fantasies, getting to sit and watch John and his adorable facial expressions. John was smarter than he gave himself credit for, and Sherlock tried to make sure he complimented John every so often. It wasn’t something he was good at, or well-practised at, and yet John always seemed to out-compliment him. He always left the library feeling so alive and confident, just from John’s words – _fantastic, brilliant, amazing, incredible._

Yes, their morning time together was special to Sherlock. Of course he had accepted that while they were friends and they could spend their library time together each morning, (and hours of texting in the evenings), John would return to Mike and Sarah and the football crew during class and lunch time. He was forced to observe from a safe distance in the shadows once again. He had accepted his fate, that he was the almost secret friend to John, who was growing in popularity.

Now that John had a tidy new uniform, he was conforming even more to the popular people and Sherlock’s inadequacies were becoming stronger than ever. John still wanted to know Sherlock was in class and safe, but they both knew the football team wouldn’t look kindly on one of their star players hanging out with the class freak. Or if it wasn’t a conscious decision, they certainly ensured it accidentally, as John followed their lead. Sherlock was used to being the outcast. It didn’t even offend him. If anything, having time sitting back from John only allowed him more time to admire him and take in everything about him unobserved. He was able to pine guilt-free.

It was at the end of the day, on Friday, when Sherlock was daydreaming about John and not taking in his surrounds, heading to his locker at the end of the school day, that he was grabbed by the scruff of his shirt and pulled into an alcove behind a set of lockers.

“ _James_ ,” Sherlock let out on a huff of air, as his breath was taken from him momentarily.

“I really don’t appreciate being stood up…twice, Sherlock. We have a regular appointment,” his voice full of gentle warning.

“James, I told you in my messages, I don’t want to do that anymore,” Sherlock tried to sound convincing. He didn’t, in fact, believe he could stave off the cravings much longer. But he was trying and he wanted so badly to believe he could, just as John believed he could.

“I don’t know why you are trying to pretend to be something you’re not Sherlock. He doesn’t see you that way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. He seems to be pretty taken with Sarah. She’s the most boring person in your grade. How could he be into _that_ and appreciate you. Not the way _I do_.”

“James, stop,” Sherlock pulled his shirt and tie out of James’ hand. “Please stop it,” he couldn’t look James in the eye and he hated that he was cowering back into the corner even more. James knew all the right buttons to ensure Sherlock was dependant on their connection.

“We both know you’re going to cave eventually. Why suffer and put off the inevitable Sherlock? When you know I have what you need. _I understand you_ ,” his voice was sweet, cajoling.

“ _Please_ ,” Sherlock whispered, “ _please don’t._ ”

James leaned in, their noses almost touching as he stroked Sherlock’s face. “John will never accept you, not like this. Not everything about you. He will never understand what you need.” James watched Sherlock closely. Sherlock tried so hard to maintain eye contact and stand his ground but the pain of knowing what James was saying was absolutely true was too much, and he closed his eyes, his head dropping in defeat. “You know how to reach me. When you change your mind. Have a good weekend.”

And with that he left Sherlock, shrinking in the dark corner, his breathing fast and his eyes closed, trying to stave off the sting of tears behind his eyes. James was right. It was inevitable, and he was worthless. Someone like John, as good as John would never really understand, or love him. Not really. He slid down to the ground and let the disappointment of it sink in. After such a lovely week, after feeling so content, the darkness was coming over him again and he began to wish he had taken what he needed from James. The weekend was going to be long and lonely without it.

\---

“So. First game tomorrow. Are you ready John? I think it’s going to be a cracker,” Mike said, with a little fist pump. Their afternoon practice had gone well.

“I can’t wait to see you in action,” Sarah simpered, flashing a beautiful smile. John returned it. Sarah had taken to watching them in the afternoons and walking with John to the bus stop afterwards. She was so lovely, and beautiful. John wished he liked her more than he did. How was he going to tell her he didn’t like her in that way? How would any of the team take the fact that he wasn’t going to conform to their idea of the jock sporty guy hooking up with the beautiful groupie?

“Yeah. I…I’m a little nervous I guess, but it will be good to play a proper game finally,” John said, nervously.

“There’s a party at my place after the game. If we win, it’s a victory party. If we lose, we drown our sorrows!” Mike announced. “You’ll come won’t you?”

“Oh yes, you have to come John, the parties are the best bit!” Sarah pleaded.

“I’ll…I’ll have to ask my Dad first. He doesn’t always let me stay out late. There’s so much school work to catch up on and everything…” John had a million excuses ready to go. Parties were never something he attended. He was never allowed.

“Of course he’ll come, Sarah. I’ll smooth it over with your Dad at the game. Not to worry John.”

John gave Mike an uncomfortable smile. That was unlikely to be successful but he would wait and see. Perhaps if John played well, and the team won, his father would be amenable to a small celebration – to bond with the team and his new friends. He could only hope his dad was in the right mood tomorrow.

“Guys I have to go grab some stuff from my locker – I’ll see you tomorrow alright?” John said, wanting to get away from the conversation altogether and not have to lie any further.

“I can come if you like…” Sarah hinted.

“No, no. You guys go. Don’t wait. I’ll see you tomorrow.” John wanted to just have some quiet time to himself after a long week. There was so much to take in.

“Right mate, see you then. Get a good sleep tonight!” Mike demanded.

He waved at them both, noting that Sarah looked disappointed, and walked across the grounds from the football field to find the corridor heading to his locker. This week had been much better. Aside from the fact things had been less tense at home, he was fitting in with the team. He didn’t have to feel self-conscious about his clothes any more. Mike was always there to defend him and introduce him to more people. The football team was well respected at this school and he had to admit, he was able to walk around with his chest puffed out a bit, as if he might fit in here, better than he had at his other schools. He had found himself smiling more this week and feeling more confident than he had in a long time. Things might actually be looking up.

As he turned the corner of the next corridor, where his locker was, something caught his eye. At the end of the corridor, right near the corner, past the end of the lockers, was something on the ground. It looked like a jacket, like someone had dropped a jacket and left it there. He walked closer. It should probably be taken to lost property. He wasn’t sure how often the cleaners attended to this dark end of the corridor. As he got closer, he heard sniffling… _was there someone actually there?_

“Hello?” He called out, as he walked closer. “Is someone there?” No one answered, but he kept walking. As he reached the end of the lockers, he realised there was a little inlet, he had never noticed before. An alcove at the end of the lockers, with an archway that led to a door. A door that looked like it had not been opened in years – an old office or storeroom clearly. He looked down and there on the ground, was Sherlock, the corner of his jacket poking out past the lockers, but he was curled up with his knees bent up and his head in his lap.

“Sherlock! What…what happened?” John asked, dropped, crouching on the floor beside him. Sherlock looked up at John, searching his face for a second and then putting his head back down, unable to speak. “Are you hurt?” John asked frantically, starting to run his hands over Sherlock’s back and arms and head, not really taking in that he was touching him so much, more as a protective check, like a parent would do. “What the hell Sherlock? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, John. I’m fine honestly,” Sherlock said quietly, sounding annoyed. “Stop that,” he added, swatting John’s hands away.

John sat on the ground properly, looking at Sherlock. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Four-thirty.”

“Hmm, an hour then I guess,” he said absently.

John looked him over, shaking his head, not sure what to say next.

“Was it James?” John’s voice was quiet and a little hesitant.

Sherlock paused for a moment, looking up at John, deciding whether to be honest or not. “James had some choice words to say about my absence, the last two Fridays, yes.”

“I’ll kill him.” John was livid.

“You won’t,” Sherlock said firmly in reply.

“I _will_. He doesn’t have the right to…”

“John,” Sherlock suddenly turned to John and put his hand on John’s leg getting his full attention, “I don’t want you anywhere _near_ him. Do you hear me? Stay well away,” Sherlock warned.

“Sherlock…” John argued.

“I mean it. I want you to promise me.” He gave John an intense look.

John looked at him in disbelief and he could see that Sherlock had been crying, the red rim around his eyes making the gorgeous blue stand out more bold than usual. There was still moisture clinging to his eyelashes, and John had to fight the urge to curl him up in his arms and hug him. Sherlock didn’t seem like a natural hugger.

“ _Promise m_ e,” Sherlock demanded.

“Yeah, okay I promise. Whatever,” John said, with an eyeroll of annoyance.

“I have it under control,” Sherlock said, his chin lifting in defiance, which John thought was almost laughable.

“Yeah, it _looks_ like it,” John scoffed.

“I _do_. I just…sometimes he knows where to hit the sucker punch,” Sherlock said, and immediately regretted it. John started to look Sherlock over again urgently, “no John…I’m fine. Emotionally, I mean. He knows how to get to me.” They both sat there quietly for a minute before Sherlock suddenly startled. “Oh John! You’re going to be late for your bus. Oh, I don’t want you getting in trouble again on my account.” Sherlock pushed himself up and stood quickly, brushing himself off. He looked worried and frantic. John followed, getting back up off the ground. “You have your game tomorrow, you can’t be getting in trouble at home tonight and ruining your first game!”

“Sherlock. Stop. It’s fine.” John was a bit embarrassed that Sherlock now knew this about him.

“Let me give you a ride home. My driver can take you,” Sherlock couldn’t help fussing.

“No, Sherlock. No. It’s fine honestly, I’ll just let him know training went late – last one before the game, he’ll take that. You don’t have to worry about me…wait...your driver??”

“I know,” he said with an eyeroll. “I do… though…" Sherlock said, making eye contact, "worry,” levelling a serious glance. John swallowed hard. Sherlock couldn’t look at him like _that_. He would say something he shouldn’t.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I’m worried about _you_ ,” he admitted, stammering a little.

“I’m okay too,” Sherlock said, shoving his hands in his pocket and swaying awkwardly.

“Anyway, I should go…if you’re really alright?” John checked again.

“I am. Thanks,” he said, smiling lightly to prove it. “You sure I can’t drop you…”

“No, I think maybe the boy that delivered my school work last week, dropping me in his fancy car might be pushing my luck, somehow,” he joked.

“True,” Sherlock nodded. “Thanks,” he then said, blushing a bit.

“What for?” John looked surprised.

“Just…I don’t know, this is a nicer end to my day than how it was looking an hour ago,” Sherlock admitted. John smiled at him and they stood there quietly for a moment, the awkwardness lingering. Neither of them knew what to say.

“Well…” John finally gestured towards his locker, Sherlock nodded furiously, acknowledging that he had to go and John walked away, looking back once to check Sherlock was still okay. It made Sherlock laugh nervously. The look on his face would stay in John’s head happily for a few hours to come.


	13. Chapter 13

The atmosphere at the game was filled with a spark, like the hum of static electricity in the air - that tangible crinkle in the air of anticipation. Unlike other teams he had played for, John could tell this school really loved their football. It wasn’t just the parents and close friends of the teams attending. This was a proper event for the local community surrounding the school. It was a big crowd. This first match was on home soil, so it was even more special to John, being able to play on the grounds at his new school, where things were starting to feel settled.

The late afternoon sun was already dropping quickly behind the school buildings, the big field lights switched on in preparation for the impending dark. The sky was grey and pink. There was something about a field, lit up and filled with a buzzing crowd that made John’s blood pump faster. The air had chilled with the disappearing sun, moisture starting to gather on the grass. It would be cold tonight. Taking in the crowd from his position on the field, John could see they were appropriately rugged up but in team colours, ready for the cold. Some people had signs, and home made pom-poms to razzle the teams in a sea of colours. Lots of scarves and beanies in team colours. Their red and white definitely outweighing the visiting team’s blue and gold.

John found it hard to spot anyone of significance in the stands, just a band of smiling faces all chatting and excited. His parents had come to the game but he couldn’t find them in the crowd. He wasn’t even sure if they would be likely to stay to the end. They didn't always. His father had been in an unusually good mood today, though, after things at work had fallen into place. He had agreed to let John stay out after, just this once. Mike had already introduced himself as the team captain and charmed Mr Watson before the match as well. As much as he struggled to trust his son, Mr Watson did understand the need for John to make friends, and his guilt at moving the family around so much sometimes played to John’s advantage. He did feel anxious about the outcome of the game and whether anything would change his mind. But he needed to focus on the match.

At the front of the stands, a group of girls, led by Sarah, grinning broadly, were attempting to be the team’s cheer squad. They cheered loudly holding up hand painted signs and ribbons. John couldn’t help smiling at Sarah and her excitement. She was a lovely positive force. Mike was still trying to convince him to just ask her out and be done with it. Sarah was too polite to take charge, and John was too damaged to want to involve her. But she was pretty to look at and she seemed to think John was interesting enough to follow him around. Maybe he would take the opportunity at the party tonight to investigate that further.

As the game got underway, John was determined to be amazing. He was acutely aware that his time off from school last week had meant less time with the team preparing. He wasn’t going to let them down. He was tired of being the unreliable one. The many times in his school life already that he had been absent because of things at home going south, he had become known as the unreliable one. And he hated it. He was not going to let that happen again. He put his focus and his energy into the game like he had never done before. He ran harder, he kicked further, he blocked better. He was on fire tonight. And he was smiling, relaxed and enjoying every second of playing the game. He loved the feeling of the cool air passing through his hair as he ran, helping to remove some of the sweat. His legs felt strong and ready, pushing into the ground with purpose. He was going to prove to the students at this school, to his team, to his Dad, that he was worthy.

As he moved back into position after a particularly good play, he glanced over to take in Sarah and her friends, to flash her a smile and feel their adulation. They were giggling and waving at him and bouncing up and down in excitement. The team was winning. He was so happy, so completely relaxed and happy without a care in the world. Before his eyes came back to the field, something caught his eye, a movement in the stands, someone finding a spot to sit, on the far side of the stands on the far aisle, a few rows up. He recognised that tall, lean figure with those curls anywhere, and he was completely distracted all of a sudden. _What was Sherlock doing…at football?_

He had, of course, managed to find the one seat that was surrounded by empty seats and even from this distance, John could see him looking awkwardly around and not being able to sit comfortably. John shook his head and smiled to himself, looking down at his feet for a moment, and then looked back up one last time to see him, and this time their eyes met. Sherlock gave the hint of a smile. Just a hint. Fired right at John.

\---

What was he doing here? Football? Seriously? _You’ve never bothered before,_ Sherlock thought to himself. Well of course he knew why, didn’t he? John Watson had captured his bloody heart. The more time he spent with him, the more he couldn’t stay away. And now here he was. _At football_. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. It was better than being at home, alone, and sober. It kept him distracted from the fact that he had gone another Friday without collecting from James, and he was edgy. Somehow when he was around John, that didn’t bother him. He had a new interesting distraction to focus his mind on. So now here he was rugged up in a big coat and planning to sit. With people. Watching football.

He climbed the stairs of the grandstand. The school had decided to make football a bit more of a feature in the last few years and had erected a tiered grandstand beside the oval. As priorities of the local families in the area had shifted, the school felt that making the sport an enrolment point might bring in a new clientele - much to the disgust of Sherlock and other families focused on more academic pursuits. The school had a long standing reputation: Rowing, Fencing and Chess had long been their trophy winning sports. Football brought something of a lower class citizen, in the view of many of the families. But he couldn’t deny there was a crowd. The grandstand they had erected was nearly full, with the crowd cheering and supporting in team colours.

Sherlock took the stairs slowly, holding on to the metal side railing, not entirely convinced of its stability, and found an area half way up that wasn’t filled near the edge of the seating. He could make an easy exit if he couldn’t stand it any longer, and he wouldn’t be trapped beside people.

Before he decided to sit, he glanced up at the field finally, and saw what he came for: _John Watson_. John Watson in football gear - even better. His mouth suddenly dried out and he tried to swallow. He could not take his eyes off him. John Watson running up the field, taking the ball with confidence and passing it on as they scored a goal. He was good. He was _really_ good. Sherlock didn’t know much about football but he could see John was good – and the team hugged at him as they went back to their positions. The running had given John a flush to his cheeks and ruffled his hair. The shorts were showing off his legs, which were thin but toned. Sherlock praised himself quietly for deciding to come. _Good decision._

He settled himself into the end seat of the row, the girl a few seats into the row looking as he sat and they made the awkward dance of signalling without words: _is it ok to sit here? Yes, they’re free. Thank you._ The girl returned back to the game bouncing in her seat and ignoring Sherlock again. Thankfully.

Even through his coat, the plastic chair was cold and he could tell the evening temperature would be freezing. He should have worn gloves. _This is why people sit close together in stadiums_ , he had no body warmth around him. He tried to relax his shoulders but he felt so uncomfortable, and actually sitting on his own, he felt a little exposed and he instantly regretted coming again.

As John got back into position for the new play, he glanced over at the stands. There was no way he would spot Sherlock in the crowd, it was unlikely, there were too many people and he was too far away. But then John saw him. He was sure of it. Sherlock thought he might have shook his head in disbelief. But he was smiling and then he looked up at Sherlock again. _Definitely looked_. Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that lifted the sides of his mouth. And suddenly he settled into the seat and was content to be here. _Yes, good decision._

As the game continued, they shared looks back and forth, each time Sherlock’s heart raced faster. He wanted to believe it meant more, that John was as interested as _he_ was. Of course he knew that was probably not the case, not really. He was intelligent enough to know that. But he could fantasize. He could pretend just a little bit- no harm in that. If he was going to watch a football match, he could have that at least.

Finally they reached half time and the teams ran off the field for their break. Sherlock felt a stab of disappointment as John left the field and suddenly he was back to feeling awkward and alone. He took in the crowd. So many excited and happy people, all heavy in conversation. Sherlock stood up to let people out of the row, stepping into the side aisle. The school ran a canteen and many people took the opportunity to go and get food and drinks and just move about. He enjoyed being able to stretch his legs a bit, the space between seats not enough for his long legs to cope – even for the short length of a sporting match. He felt all the more exposed just standing in the aisle, though, so he returned back to his seat. He grabbed out his phone and found he had a message.

Saturday 6:47pm

You came! :)

Saturday 6:49pm

Stranger things have happened John Watson.

Saturday 6:49pm

Have they though? I can’t think of any.

Saturday 6:49pm

Should you be on your phone? Isn’t there some sort of team meeting back there?

Saturday 6:50pm

Yes you’re right. I should put it away and listen to the coach. Will I see you after?

Saturday 6:50pm

Sure. I can wait around.

Saturday 6:51pm

Great. See you soon then :)

Sherlock smiled at his phone. John was excited that he was there. His thoughts were interrupted by the girl from his aisle needing to step back in over him, her hands full with popcorn and a large drink. Before he could stand again, to let her in, she moved forward only to trip on his shoe, spilling some drink on him. He stood in shock, only to have her spill more drink as she tried to right herself. The two of them in an uncomfortable dance of trying to untangle and apologise. Sherlock moved out into the aisle again in embarrassment, a number of people near them turning to look and comment. He would have to go to the bathrooms to dry off his shirt, which was now wet all down the front, or maybe he should just leave. He did promise John he would be there at the end, though. He couldn’t sit in this cold air with his shirt all wet though, so he decided to make his way down the grandstand to head to the bathrooms.

As he walked down the stairs, he watched the crowd, and spotted Mr and Mrs Watson, towards the middle. For a brief moment, Mr Watson caught sight of him and gave him the once over, a slight sneer in the look. _Perfect_ , Sherlock thought, as he continued down, having to move to the side to let others by as they hurried back to their seats. He reached the bottom tier, just as the team began to run back out to much cheering from the crowd, and he was momentarily distracted. He had to grab at least one last glimpse of John before he went to sort himself out, and decide if he would stay or not. John was beaming, his chest puffed out even more than before, ready to take on the world and Sherlock let out a sigh. He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. Sherlock was in trouble.

He was still in everyone’s way, so he moved slightly to the side, right to the edge of the landing where the stairs took you back to ground level. He squeezed himself over to the very edge, to allow people to get by, and leaned forward onto the metal railing to watch, just for a minute longer.

“Hello Sherlock, what a _pleasant_ surprise.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as the familiar sneer in James’ voice at his ear caught him off guard. Sherlock turned his head which only made it worse, as James’ lips were close enough to brush his cheek now. James leaned right in against the railing, invading all of Sherlock’s personal space, his body pressed up against him.

“At the _football_ of all places. Although I shouldn’t be surprised. I think we both know why you’re here.” James leaned into his personal space, and Sherlock regretted stopping here, where he was now caught in the corner with no escape. James’ aftershave invaded his senses, a smell which in the beginning had been intoxicating but now just started to rile his gag reflexes. He tried to stand upright to use his height to assert some dominance, but James was too close. He reached out and stroked at Sherlock’s cheek. “ _I’ve missed you._ ” He said in a low, sulky tone.

“Don’t,” Sherlock replied, trying to shake his head away from James' hand, his voice coming out a little croaky and nowhere near strong enough.

“You look a little peaked. I can help with that.”

“Just leave me alone, James. I’ve told you I’m _not_ interested.”

“Oh, I think we both no that’s not quite true, though,” he said with a smug sneer, and Sherlock closed his eyes taking in a shuddering breath. James was absolutely _right_ and it killed him.

\---

The first half of the game went by quickly with the added distraction of Sherlock watching. The team was playing well, they were in the lead and John ran off with great excitement. He went straight to his locker and grabbed his phone to text Sherlock, ignoring the team’s shouts and the coach’s instructions.

“Great game, Mate! You’re doing brilliant!” Mike said, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed by.

“Yeah I think it’s going well!” John beamed, as he texted.

“Make sure you get some fruit and some water,” Mike directed.

“Will do,” John said, nodding and looking up from his phone for a moment.

The half time break was only fifteen minutes but it felt like forever to John. _Sherlock was here, at the game._ He was going to wait at the end. John couldn’t quite process how excited that made him feel, considering only minutes before he was thinking about approaching Sarah. Sarah was lovely. Sarah was gorgeous. A sensible choice. But Sherlock, well Sherlock captured him in a way no one had before. He always wanted more time with Sherlock. This past week spending more time with him had been so great. And now he was _here_.

Finally they were back on the field, and John took a moment to look back up at the stands. Sarah and her crew were really getting excited now, geeing up the people around them to join in with their cheers. This time, John found his parents in the crowd, and he waved at them both proudly. Surely his father would be pleased with how he had played? And then, he tried to find Sherlock, over at the side. His brow creased as he realised Sherlock was gone, his seat empty. He frantically glanced around to see if he had moved and just as the first ball began play, he caught sight of him and his blood ran cold.

At the side of the stands, at the top of the steps, Sherlock was squeezed against the corner of the railing with someone practically attached to him. It had to be James, although John couldn’t quite make him out, his back facing the field as he stood close against Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t look particularly comfortable, but he saw James run his hand on Sherlock’s face. _That way_ he always did. That way John didn’t like. Suddenly his blood was boiling and all of the joy he had felt was gone. He was angry. _Really_ angry. He wanted to go over there and stop it. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he was shaking his head. Or maybe John was imagining it. Maybe John wanted to believe Sherlock didn’t want to be a part of it. Maybe Sherlock and James were still a thing and Sherlock didn’t want John to know. They were certainly standing close enough. James certainly took liberties with Sherlock’s physical space like someone who had permission.

John tried to focus on the game but his focus kept being pulled across to the stands.

“John stay lively!” Mike yelled at him.

He tried, he really tried. He put his eyes back on the game, shaking his head and trying to clear the imagine of Sherlock and James.

But every few seconds, he found himself looking back up at them. At the pair in the corner. Sherlock and James began to wrestle a bit, Sherlock was clearly trying to get out of his grip, out of the corner.

Finally, John saw Sherlock shove James off him with force and he disappeared down the stairs. John lost sight of him. James straightened his coat before running down the stairs after him, and at that, John stopped on the field. Completely stopped. So did his heart. He completely lost all focus on the game, facing the stands in shock. He needed to help Sherlock. He needed to help _now_.

And that was when the body collided with him unexpectedly and knocked him to the ground, and everything went black.


	14. Chapter 14

John heard the noises first as he came to. Then the smell of the change room, the noise of people moving about. He slowly flickered his eyes open, squinting at the bright light above him. He was lying on a bench. As he opened his eyes fully, Sarah’s face came into view in front of him.

“John,” she sighed with relief.

“Oh mate, you gave us a scare! You were out cold,” Mike was standing right behind her and leaned into his view.

“What…the hell happened?” He asked, confused.

“I don’t know what happened, but you weren’t paying attention that’s for sure. One minute we were all playing the game. The next, the other team’s brickhouse came right at you and took you out!” Mike exclaimed with a little chuckle. The game paused for ten minutes while we tried to stir you

“Is it over? Did we…did we win?” John asked.

“Yeah we did. We did win.” Mike said, nodding. He liked that John was focussed on the team even in his current state. That made for a loyal and good teammate. His instincts on John were right. “No thanks to _you_ in the second half though!” he joked. “But you did your bit in the first half at least. I’ll give you that. All in all, it was a good first showing. Let’s see if we can get you through a full match next time though, huh?” He laughed and put a hand on his shoulder.

John smiled and his head hurt a little even from that small movement. Judging by the lack of people in the room, he gathered he had been out for a good while.

“The Doc needs to clear you first, and I have to head home to get the party ready, but I’ll see you there ok?” Mike checked in.

“I’ll stay with him, Mike,” Sarah said dutifully.

“Oh you don’t have to…” John began.

“No it’s fine. I want to. And you’ll need a ride to the party if you’re still going?” She said, hopefully.

“Oh my Dad—” John ignored her question, suddenly realising his parents weren’t here. This would be exactly the kind of thing that would put a spanner in the works of going to the party. He knew it would be too good to be true.

“Yeah, he’s outside having a smoke. I’ll let him know you’re awake,” Mike said as he walked out.

“Sarah—” John began, a little guiltily. He wasn’t used to being doted over. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it when he was weak and lying down.

“It’s fine John, I’m happy to wait, honestly. You played really well tonight. At least for that first bit,” she said with a shy smile, blushing.

He suspected he would be getting a lot of flack for this next week. But before John could respond, his father came rushing into the room.

“Oh son, you gave us a scare.”

“Dad I’m fine,” John said as he tried to sit up, his head pounding and making him lie back down again.

“Just wait for the doctor, John. Your mother was terrified. Where _is_ that bloody doctor anyway?” He started to sound stressed and John stopped worrying about his head and started worrying about the state his dad was in.

“Dad, stop. Mike’s gone to get him.” John did not want a scene in front of Sarah. “Sarah could you…could you give us a minute?” John thought it best she wasn’t here to see this. Lord knew what his dad would say.

“Of course, I’ll be right outside John. I won’t go yet,” she said kindly.

“Dad, where’s mum?”

“I sent her home with one of the other mothers. There’s another family at the school who apparently just lives down our street. We met in the crowd and they’ve taken her home. I said I’d wait for you.”

“Oh right,” he nodded, wincing again at the movement of his head. The silence between them was uncomfortable. His dad was never good at making conversation with him.

“Good game,” he finally said. “Seems like a good team.”

“Yeah. Yeah they’re good,” John replied, nodding. There was more awkward silence. He could feel the tension in his father - as if somehow his injury was to blame for his father's worry and he should apologise. The longer John said nothing, the more tense it became. Finally his dad started pacing, unable to contain the energy he was feeling, waiting for the doctor to appear.

“You weren’t watching. You were distracted,” his dad levelled at him suddenly, clear disappointment in his tone.

“What?” John tried to sit up a bit, putting his weight on his elbows, the pain from lifting his head up was really something. He must have slammed his head on the ground properly.

“It was that boy wasn’t it? I saw him. The one that came to the house.”

“No. Dad, what do you mean?” John asked, feeling a little guilty that his dad had noticed.

“I saw, John. You were distracted by him.”

“No, Dad. He’s a friend. Just a friend. And he was in trouble.” John swallowed hard, as he tried not to worry about Sherlock. _Where was he? What had happened with James? Did he even know I was injured?_ “He was in trouble and I was worried. It was a split second and--”

“John,” his dad was firm. He wasn’t up for discussing this in any detail, “I don’t want you to get distracted. Your school work is important. Playing well for your team is important just—"

"It’s fine Dad. I promise. I’m sorry. Don’t worry." John said in a rush. "Is it still okay if I go to the party to celebrate the win with the boys at least?” He thought he might as well try it now.

His dad let out a huff of air. “I’m sure your mother will want you home, so she can fuss over you—”

“Please Dad, it’s my first game with the team. I promise to be careful. Sarah is going to drive me. _Please_ dad.”

“She seems nice. Is she your--?”

“Not yet. Maybe.” John thought that might at least distract from Sherlock, from his dad’s obvious frustrations about Sherlock.

“If the doctor clears you. Just this once,” he said with a heavy sigh of resignation.

“Really?” John didn’t mean it to sound so pathetic but the look on his dad’s face definitely signalled that he had managed to make it sound so.

“John,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bench beside his son. “You know, I _am_ proud of you. I know sometimes things are a bit…sometimes things get...out of hand. But you know, you’re my son and I’m proud of you. Right? The way you handle all the moving around and take it in your stride. And you help your mother. I just… I’m proud. You played well tonight.” He sounded sad, and for a brief moment John pitied him. 

He nodded gently, so as not to hurt his head and gave his Dad a weak smile.

\---

The doctor finally came back and cleared John and it wasn’t long before he was changed and heading off to the party with Sarah. A hit of ibuprofen had helped settle the thudding in his head, but he still felt a little dazed. As she drove, John got his phone out of his pocket finally. No messages.

“You really _did_ play well. It’s such a shame that happened,” Sarah said, not looking at John.

“ _You_ certainly had a good time tonight, Sarah – getting the crowd behind us all,” John said kindly as he, started texting.

_Saturday 8:20pm_

_Sherlock where are you?_

“I _did_ have a good time. I always cheer on the team!” Sarah said with a laugh, leaning in to change the music and adjust the temperature in the car and noticing John distracted with his phone. His brow furrowed as he texted frantically.

_8:21pm_

_Sherlock I saw you leave. I saw James with you. I want to know that you’re okay. Let me know!_

He put the phone in his lap finally. “Thank you. For sitting with me. That was…nice,” John said. He was really not good at this. He rolled his eyes at himself internally.

“You went down like a ragdoll. It was a bit scary actually. They couldn’t wake you up. Someone needed to sit with you,” Sarah said matter-of-factly, like anyone would have done the same for her.

“Well it was lovely. Not how I expected my first game to go,” he laughed nervously.

“No, I imagine not,” she laughed in return.

They sat in silence listening to the music. She had chosen some interesting country folk singer taking their spin at something political. John wasn’t really taking in the lyrics. But it was nice enough to pass the drive to Mike’s place.

“John, I know you’re new and you’re still settling in. But I like you,” she said confidently. “I don’t know what you think about me, but I _like_ you. So… ball’s in your court. When you’re ready.” She smiled at him and then returned her eyes to the road. And that was that.

He smiled to himself. Maybe he would take her up on it. Maybe.

But he couldn’t help looking at his phone again. No reply.


	15. Chapter 15

John always liked the _idea_ of going to parties. The very idea that he might have enough friends to warrant being in a room with a collection of people gave him a small thrill. Travelling from school to school never really allowed him to be around long enough to enjoy parties, or people that much. But any time he did arrive at one, he almost immediately regretted it. They were always crowded and loud and people were always somehow a complete mess by the time John arrived. He never understood how they did that. Trying to manage a party on crutches - after the fall at the game had left him with a sprained ankle - was a new challenge that made him slightly grumpy. He knew the minute he walked in the door, that it had been a bad idea.

“I’ll go and find us a drink,” Sarah said confidently as soon as she walked in. 

“Just a soft drink for me,” John shouted towards her. His Dad would not appreciate it if he squandered the permission to be here with underage drinking to boot.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said cheekily back at him. _Was she flirting?_

“How would I even do that?” He said back at her, resting his body on the crutches as he extended his arms out in mock confusion.

This was clearly not Sarah’s first party at Mike’s house and she wove her way through the people to the kitchen area with a comfort level that would only come from many visits. John smiled to himself. She was so quiet, almost demure at school around him and already she had declared her interest and taken control of the situation at the party. He liked this assertive side to her. He lacked so much confidence that it was nice to have someone take the lead for a change. Maybe this could work. Maybe Sarah was actually a good fit. Maybe he would try and kiss her tonight and see how that felt, see if there was chemistry. Or maybe as usual, he would do nothing at all.

He stood with that thought for all of about thirty seconds before he couldn’t help himself – he took out his phone and checked it. Still nothing. He was starting to feel a sense of dread about Sherlock, but before he could take any more action, he was swept up by some of the team who clapped him on the back and cheered.

“Johnny! You’re okay! Look boys it’s Johnny – he’s alive!” One of the more vocal boys on the squad announced to the rest of them, which resulted in loud manly cheers from the rest of the bunch, coming to crowd around him in the front hallway.

“Careful, careful,” John said, suddenly nervous that he was at risk of being lifted up and crowd surfed across the party. Thankfully they had better sense than that, despite their obvious state of inebriation already. He smiled and laughed along awkwardly. He joined in with them all as they regaled him with tales of how they saw it happen, what they thought, and a blow by blow of the rest of the match. It felt sort of amazing to have this crew excited to see him, to talk to him, to be part of a tribe.

But at the same time, John was completely overwhelmed. Not only was his mind elsewhere, he also hated being the centre of attention. He had planned to spend some time with Sarah but right now he needed air and an escape. The room was suddenly very stuffy and he could feel his blood pressure rising, the stress of the situation suddenly building in him and he needed a release. He needed to get outside. Making his apologies to the boys, he snuck back out the front door - the fastest exit point - awkwardly wrestling his crutches over the little lip at the doorway.

Outside he moved himself slowly and carefully in the dark around the side of the house, sneaking behind a group of very loud girls squealing and complimenting each other’s clothing, one of them speaking with a particularly large flourish which resulted in wine spilling on John’s jacket. _Perfect._ He would smell of alcohol when he went home. He moved past them, ignoring their shouts of apology and giggles. He really did hate parties. Further along the side of the house, was a small strip of grass and a clothes line with some sheets hanging out. _The cold air would make them damp_ , he thought to himself. He managed to manoeuvre around them carefully and make it to the back yard. It was virtually empty back here and John stopped, to lean against the back corner of the house. This was not his first stint on crutches but it was exhausting nonetheless. He placed his weight against the house wall, his crutches still under his arms, but not holding his weight any more. He took in some deep breaths of fresh air, the relief from the heat and the noise inside was almost euphoric. He took his phone out to check it again. _Still nothing_. He decided to send something to Sherlock. Just to check in. No harm in checking again, right? Just casually.

_Saturday 9:03pm_

_Hey._

“I thought I saw you sneaking out,” Sarah said gently, drinks in hand. “You okay?” She was so caring and sweet. John gave her a half smile, feeling a little guilty.

“Yeah it’s just too much in there. Too much of a crowd,” he gave a loud sigh, his shoulders sagging. “I’m not good at parties, Sarah. Even at the best of times. Without all this,” he gestured awkwardly to his crutches.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be good at parties, John. That’s not really a thing, you know,” she teased. “I’m just glad you weren’t trying to walk home, honestly.”

John laughed at that. “No. No, I don’t think I’d get very far.”

“Look, it was just a good excuse to spend some time with you, outside of school,” she blushed, handing him his drink. “No pressure, honestly.”

He huffed at that, knowing he needed to relax. He was always guilty of being too intense. “Cheers, thanks,” he said, taking the cup from her. He managed a quick skull of soft drink, suddenly really thirsty, holding the crutches uncomfortably with his arm pits, still leaning against the wall.

“Did you have fun tonight, at the game though? Aside from the obvious?” She asked lightly.

“Yeah it was great. The guys are great it’s…yeah it’s been good,” John could hear himself stumbling over the conversation and couldn’t understand why he was never able to just be normal, with girls. Sarah smiled politely but didn’t speak for a moment. John mentally checked over what he had said, worried he had maybe said the wrong thing.

“John…I know I was a bit forward before, in the car. I do that sometimes. But…well, can I ask…are you going to ask me out? I mean… sorry,” she laughed nervously, shaking her head. “I don’t mean to be pushy. It’s just that I think you _might_ be interested. But sometimes I’m not sure. And I don’t want to embarrass myself by following you around, you know, if you’re not really interested like that.”

John cringed internally. She was really calling him on this. “Sarah… look honestly. I…you’re really lovely…”

“Oh great,” she said slightly embarrassed. “I get it. Say no more.”

“No, no! I _mean_ that. You seem really lovely and I _like_ you. I _do_. I just have a lot going on at the moment. It’s really complicated, I don’t want to get into it. I’m just trying to get settled first. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. Because I _have_. _Of_ _course_ I have. It’s just…” John trailed off. He had used just about every excuse in the book, hadn’t he? _John Watson you’re a pathetic cliché._

She smiled and put her drink down on the ground, before stepping closer to John, grabbing his drink out of his hand gently too, and placing it beside hers on the floor. She stepped in front of him and he was fascinated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was gorgeous, and captivating and he waited for her to talk, but instead, she grabbed his face, and kissed him. He was caught slightly off guard and he gripped onto the crutches tighter, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, but he kissed her back. It was sweet. Gentle, but assertive. She tasted bitter, from the beer and her lips were cold from the chilled liquid. But her body was so soft and warm as she pressed against him. He let go of one of his crutches carefully to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her into him more. His brain was unable to relax completely, as he started worrying about the fact that she had driven him, and she was drinking a beer. _He couldn’t be too late home or his Dad would…_

Suddenly, his crutch fell to the ground with a bang, shocking them both into breaking the kiss and they giggled together.

“Well, _that_ happened,” he said, shyly, still holding on to her waist.

“Yes. Yes it did.” She looked at him, hoping he would say more.

“Sarah, I…that was…” _Say something you idiot,_ he implored his brain.

Just then, his phone rang from his pocket and it flustered him even further. “Sorry, I need to get that. It might be my Dad,” he panicked, helping push her weight off him as he struggled to try and grab at his phone in his pocket, the other crutch falling to the ground. Sarah grabbed them both and helped him as he answered it. He gave her a nod of thanks as she placed the crutches back under each arm for him. She went back to her beer, standing to the side, waiting patiently.

“Hello?” He didn’t even look at the caller ID in his rush to answer it.

“John…?” Suddenly, his pulse started racing at the familiar voice. _Sherlock_.

He sighed loudly in relief. “Where are you?” he asked frantically, wishing he could move away from Sarah for this conversation but being trapped there with his bloody ankle, he didn’t have a choice.

“John…I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the end. To see you,” Sherlock said, guiltily.

“Yeah I saw. You were busy. With James.” John swallowed hard, not meaning to be so cold, but he was feeling particularly bitter. He assumed that Sherlock had come to see him play, they had texted in the break, but then he had left with James and not said anything. It stung his pride a bit, and he felt silly for worrying when Sherlock was probably fine.

“You saw?” He sounded worried.

“Yeah I _did_ see. At least I thought I saw…oh it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked, sounding upset.

“I didn’t make it to the end of the match either, Sherlock. You missed the big show, apparently. I got knocked out cold.”

“Oh god. Are you alright?” He sounded concerned, but John wasn’t sure if he was just projecting his own hopes onto Sherlock’s voice, interpreting it his own way.

“Yeah. I’ll be walking around on crutches for a while. But otherwise I seem to be okay, yeah. My head’s harder than I thought. No concussion. Probably won’t be playing next week though.”

“What happened?” He asked.

“I wasn’t focussed on the game. I…looked up and saw James crowding you and I just…I was worried, Sherlock,” John admitted, glancing over at Sarah to see if she was listening. She had the decency to face away from the call but he was sure she was taking it all in.

“Oh.” Sherlock didn’t know what to say.

“Yes. _Oh_ ,” he couldn’t disguise the anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock tried.

“Sherlock, why are you calling?” John asked and it was mean, on purpose, demanding.

“Well I just wanted to… apologise for not meeting you. And you had texted so…I didn’t want you to worry…” His voice trailed off not knowing what to say to John.

“It’s fine. Thanks for letting me know you’re okay.” John made a conscious decision to close off his emotions. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m at a party…with Sarah. So I need to…”

“Oh right. Sorry. Sure. I didn’t mean to…”

“You and James have a good night,” John interrupted. He couldn’t resist the barb. He knew it was childish. He had no right to treat Sherlock like this. They weren’t a couple. Sherlock had done nothing wrong. But his pride had been hurt. His fantasy had been ruined a little tonight. “Thanks for letting me know, though.”

“No, John, we’re not…”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.” John hung up the phone before Sherlock could finish.

He didn’t _want_ to hang up the phone. If he had been alone he would have talked to Sherlock, demanded some answers maybe about James, about what was really going on. But with Sarah listening in, he just couldn’t. He felt guilty for treating Sherlock like that. But he was so angry at himself for overimagining things with Sherlock to the point of ridiculous. He had invented a whole imaginary relationship in his head with this boy, to the point that he had been seriously injured at his match. He had lost all sense of reason, and it was time to pull back, like his father had said. Focus on school and sport and not get distracted.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Sarah, a little embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine John. Is he okay?”

“Sorry?”

“Sherlock. Is he alright?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m sure he is. Everything’s fine,” John said, not really wanting to commit to an answer, or discuss it with her.

“How about you come over and sit. Just come and sit with me. Get off that foot of yours.” She enticed him over to a set of deck chairs just in front of them. Yes, he could do this. He could sit here with Sarah and get to know her better. He could stop thinking about a certain curly haired friend in ways that were not reciprocated, and just try to enjoy himself. He could.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock unlocked his phone. He scrolled his thumb to move the messages up and down on the screen aimlessly. Not that there was any point. He had written them all. No reply from John at all, nothing all weekend. Now he was at school Monday morning, waiting at the library, hopeful that John would come through the doors at any moment.

Sunday 10:35am

_I am sorry about tonight. You played really well though._

_  
Sunday 11:20am_

_Our team has famously been inconsistent and unsuccessful thus far and you are the best thing to happen to them. They owe that win to you._

_Sunday 1:06pm_

_Also - James and I are not a thing._

_Sunday 3:40pm_

_I hope things with Sarah went well. At the party._

_Sunday 5:23pm_

_Are we still meeting in the library on Monday morning?_

_Sunday 6:52pm_

_John?_

_READ_

_John had clearly seen them all. Was he angry? Was he busy? Should he stop texting? Was he coming?_

* * *

John couldn’t decide what to do. He had arrived at school early enough to meet Sherlock in the library – their usual routine. But something stopped him. He had received all of Sherlock’s text messages. They did nothing to help what was already going on in his head. He decided to go down to the sheds instead and do some training. He wouldn’t be able to work with the team this week, with his bloody ankle and crutches, but he could at least do some work on his upper body strength in the meantime. There was a small gym room of equipment they were allowed to use. He hadn’t really utilised it much yet, but he needed to blow off some steam. 

He changed and got himself settled on one of the machines, setting the weights high enough to be painful. He need to really take his frustrations out on it and feel the burn. He was glad there was no one else in there this morning. He just wanted time alone to take it out on the equipment. He let his mind wander, only stopping once to nod at the coach who walked by, and let him carry on.

He couldn’t go to the library - he wondered if Sherlock was there, waiting. He couldn't look at Sherlock right now. He had started to write so many replies to the text messages and couldn’t send any of them. He had kissed Sarah, spent a few hours with her talking at the party. But his mind was elsewhere the whole time. Sherlock was invading his thoughts and he was angry. Angry at himself for not being able to wipe that thought out. Sherlock was clearly unavailable. He and James… Sherlock had said they weren’t a thing but clearly they were something. But what? Because so much evidence pointed to the contrary. Did Sherlock really hope things went well with Sarah? Did he really think John played well at the game? So many mixed messages that he couldn’t piece together. Things with Sarah on Saturday had been nice. She was gentle and caring, and just confident enough to give John the kick he needed. It had certainly been a while since he’d had the opportunity to kiss anybody and he wasn’t going to pass that up. But did he want her as a girlfriend? The truth was, he could work it around in his head for days, but he really knew the answer. Sarah wasn’t what he wanted at all. What he wanted, he couldn't have. He was meant to be helping Sherlock, being supportive. Not trying to crack on.

After a solid half hour of thinking and frustration which really didn’t improve things at all, John struggled through the change room door again, crutches getting tangled. He was ready to have a quick shower and get dressed for class. He cursed under his breath in frustration at the door, his mind elsewhere, and a smug voice caught him by surprise.

“What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Who the hell are you?” John asked, stopping in his tracks, shocked, nearly losing his balance.

“You and Sherlock, John. What’s going on?” he pressed, ignoring John’s question. John was unimpressed and huffed at the older man, who was standing bolt upright, clearly overdressed, even for this school and far too old to be hanging out in boys’ change rooms. This man clearly knew who John was though, _and_ Sherlock. It didn’t take long for John to piece that together and his blood began to boil. He channelled his anger, storming closer on his crutches. Close enough to be intimidating, his face obviously giving off enough of a threat that the man actually took a step back to press against the tiled wall. He did eye John up and down, trying to assess if the crutches were enough of a disadvantage to save him.

“I know about James Moriarty already, but are you another one of his dealers then?” John barked.

“I can assure you, John, I am not his dealer. Just an interested party,” the man replied, his voice steady but his eyes looking a little taken aback at John’s reaction.

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” John replied, his brow creased, his position unchanged, “and how do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know these things,” the man said. “I’m his brother.”

“Oh jesus, really?” John took a step back, trying to manouvre the crutches on the tiled floor without losing his balance. He suddenly felt a little guilty at the overreaction. It often worried him that he was becoming more like his father, but he pushed that thought well down into his toes. “Well where the hell have you been?”

“Yes sadly, he doesn’t let us intervene in his life, so I watch from afar. Our parents are away a lot, so his care rests with me, but we don't get along very well. My… work allows me certain privileges which I occasionally abuse to keep up to speed with things unbeknownst to him.”

“He doesn’t let you…” John was shocked. “You can’t be serious? He’s a minor. Surely you have some say?”

“Yes. Well on that…” he cleared his throat. “What are your intentions with my brother?”

John scoffed. “My intentions?”

“Yes. It’s a straight forward question, don’t you think?”

“He’s my friend?” John said simply.

“And?” The brother urged.

“And nothing. He’s my friend… maybe a best friend. I don’t really have those but he’s the closest thing.”

The man eyed him up and down again. He clearly wasn’t buying whatever John was saying.

“Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?”

“Career hazard, sorry. Sherlock doesn’t have… friends. I’m intrigued to be honest. There’s clearly something between you two.”

“I’m not… I don’t…” John blushed at how pathetic it sounded.

The brother tilted his head knowingly.

“Not that I owe you _any_ explanation, but yes, he means a lot to me. I don’t have friends either. I’m not very experienced in this area. But Sherlock is… different and over the last couple of weeks we have been helping each other.”

“Tread carefully there, John.”

John bristled at the warning. The stubborn side of him was not going to obey any kind of direct order. His dad had ensured that. Even with the risk of serious repercussions, he couldn't resist the defiance. But he decided to keep his mouth shut this time.

“You mentioned James before. Is he still… in the picture?”

“Very much so it seems,” John replied, and he hated how jealous it sounded.

“I would appreciate any information you have. Happy to compensate you if necessary.”

John’s brow creased. “You want to _pay_ me… to spy on your brother? Which you can clearly do on your own, since you found _me_ this morning.” John said with slight disdain. “Which is really creepy by the way.”

The brother’s eyebrows lifted at the impertinence.

“We have a… difficult relationship. He won’t let me help, and he has ways of going undetected. It’s frustrating to say the least.”

“Well I won’t be the one to spy, and I’m not a charity case,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly. “But I will confirm James is very much in the picture. I don’t know how Sherlock is feeling about it. He’s been very mixed in his messages about that. I’m only telling you for Sherlock’s sake. Not that it’s any of my business.”

“I suspect it very much _is_ actually,” he replied, which caught John by surprise. “I appreciate you looking out for him as best you can. I’ll be in touch, John,” he said ominously, before walking out of the change room without a glance back at John.

“No thanks I –” John tried to say, but somehow, he knew it was not up for discussion.


	17. Chapter 17

John had moved about the corridor carefully, not only avoiding people with his crutches, but also hoping desperately not to run in to Sherlock. Or Sarah. He didn’t know what to say to either of them. His head still buzzing from the odd interaction with Sherlock's brother. _Should he tell Sherlock? Should he keep it to himself?_ He had surprised himself at how protective he had been at first over Sherlock, when he thought it was another drug dealer interfering. _Why did he have this insane urge to protect him?_

He managed to get to the classroom early enough to find a desk at the front, where he could lean his crutches on the wall, out of everyone’s way and not have to mingle outside. Sarah was late enough to class to have to sit elsewhere, but she made sure to flash John a flirtatious, happy smile. She had spent Sunday texting back and forth with him too. But that sort of casual, flirtatious texting was far easier for John to do mindlessly, than talking to Sherlock. Somehow responding to Sherlock had more weight.

Each time the door to the classroom opened, John’s heart gave a little leap, waiting for Sherlock. But of course he didn’t come. It was maths after all. He had only been coming when John made him and since he had not been at the library, Sherlock was likely not to make an appearance. As the class got underway, he admitted to himself that he was disappointed at Sherlock’s absence, not only because he hated Sherlock wasting his talents, but also because he really did want to see him. As frustrated as he was, he wanted to see that face.

As if he had willed him into being, Sherlock suddenly burst through the door to the class, making a loud dramatic entrance. But instead of coming to sit down, he walked to the middle of the front of the room and stood there, looking at John.

“John,” he announced.

John’s eyes widened and he tried not to look around at everyone who was staring right at him.

“Mr Holmes! I’m trying to run a class…” the teacher argued.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you haven’t even got the first equation on the board correct. _Honestly_." Sherlock said, dripping with arrogance, before turning back to John. "John... _please._ I need to speak to you,” he continued, ignoring the teacher’s angry glare.

“Sherlock, we’re in the middle of class…” John said, embarrassed, trying to show the teacher he was not partaking in this.

“Fine, I can say it here if you like," Sherlock said stubbornly. "I wanted to talk to you about the other night…” he began.

The class started to jeer and react. John turned bright red and leapt up in his place, grabbing at his crutches.

“Fine. Ok, ok fine. You win. Mr Johnson…if it’s okay…?” he began as he tried to shuffle out of his desk.

“Yes, take it outside you two. Make it quick, Watson,” the teacher said, as he turned back to the board, frantically glancing between his textbook in hand and the board, to correct the equation Sherlock had pointed out while this distraction kept the class amused, and unaware.

The awkward slow walk across the front of the class to the door on his crutches was excrutiating. John glanced over at Sarah briefly, who was blushing as well, eyes in her lap, not willing to look at John. He felt a pang of guilt. Finally he reached the door, which Sherlock held open for him, closing it gently before turning to face John. Before he could speak, John leapt in.

“Sherlock what the bloody hell are you doing?” He asked in a fierce, embarrassed whisper, not wanting the class inside to listen, although he suspected they would be trying their best.

“You didn’t come to the library before school and you haven’t been answering your messages. You’re ignoring me!”

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve been busy.” Even John knew that wasn’t true and he wasn’t even hiding it well with his voice.

“John be serious. I’m not an idiot,” Sherlock retorted.

John sighed, his head dropping in defeat. “Sherlock…”

“I was worried that maybe your dad had…” The innocence in Sherlock's voice surprised John and he felt momentarily guilty that he had led Sherlock to think that, after last time. It hadn't occurred to him. But then his anger flared. He didn't want Sherlock thinking of him as some defenceless, damaged friend who needed protecting.

“It’s not always about my dad,” John interrupted, annoyed.

“I know. I’m sorry, I know. I just thought that maybe… well I _was_ worried. You should just answer your messages!”

“So, it’s all right for you to ignore your messages when you’re with James? Like the other night? But when I…”

“John, I told you we’re not…”

“I saw you! You _left_ with him. That’s how I ended up… like this.” He gestured down at his foot. “I was too busy worrying about _you_. But you were fine, weren’t you? You’re _fine_. I thought he was… but he was just… what? Flirting? Picking you up? I just didn’t…”

“John, that’s not what it was at all, Please just…” Sherlock couldn’t get a word in. Nothing was coming out right.

“It’s not my place to…” John started.

“I want it to be.” Sherlock’s reply was quiet, but confident and clear.

“What?” John was caught off guard.

“I want you to…” Sherlock didn’t really know how to finish the thought and he stopped suddenly.

“To what?” John was trying to be open, but it all was just coming out angry instead. He knew he should listen. He wanted to. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“John. I _need_ you…” Sherlock’s admission was unexpected to both of them. It made John’s heart ache a little with hope, but he couldn’t believe someone would say that about him. Not someone like Sherlock. He was sure Sherlock didn’t mean it the way John wanted him to.

“I still don’t understand…” he checked.

Sherlock was suddenly tongue-tied. He had not meant to say that much.

“Sherlock,” John sighed suddenly, “what do you want from me? You tell me you need a friend, and you want me to help you stay away from James and from… and things seemed to be going well and then you… and you say you and James are _not_ a thing, but you left the game with him. You _left_. And now I’m on crutches.” He shook his head in frustration. “You know, I think you’re a complicated person to be friends with and it might just be better if we just didn’t…”

“But you _were_ helping me to stay away. You were helping!” Sherlock pleaded.

“I think it’s too late isn’t it? I’m clearly not helping. Did you use on the weekend?” John asked. He didn’t mean to.

Sherlock stood there, silent, suddenly unable to respond.

“Were you with James?”

More silence. John suddenly felt sick, and guilty all at once. He shouldn’t be doing this to Sherlock. It wasn’t his place.

“Sorry. It’s none of my business, Sherlock.”

“It _is_ though,” Sherlock said with confidence.

“What _is_ this with us?” John let out in frustration, shaking his head. “What do you want from me Sherlock? I don’t understand what’s happening here. With you. _Or_ with me, in fact. I care about you. Probably more than I should. I don’t have a lot of friends in life. I’ve told you that. And I _can_ be your friend. I can help you. But not if you’re just going to ignore everything. Seeing you with James at the game. I can’t do that. I won’t. I can’t try to help you and have you just...”

“John…” Sherlock was so frustrated he couldn’t get on the right foot with John. He couldn’t say what he needed to say.

“Sherlock, I can’t stay out here… I have to get back into class. You should be coming in too. You were doing so well at it before. Come in and just…”

“I can’t. Can we talk about this properly? Later? After school?”

“I’ve got practice.”

“Like that?” Sherlock gestured at his leg.

“Well, I will be _at_ practice,” John corrected.

“Can I come? Can I sit with you and we can talk?”

Sherlock asked it so gently that John couldn’t refuse. Maybe by then he could get his own head in order too. They were arguing like a couple but neither of them had ever said anything about being interested in the other. So what _was_ this? “Sure, I guess so. I don’t know what that’s going to achieve, but sure.”

And with that, John started to head back in. Sherlock leapt forward to help him with the door at the same time as John leaned forward to grab the handle too. For a moment their faces were so close, John was mesmerised. He had to resist the urge to just lean in and… he shook his head and ignored Sherlock’s intense gaze as he let Sherlock grab the door and headed back in to the room.


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock arrived late to the practice. John was sitting in the grand stand watching from near the front. His hands were buried in the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders pulled up to his ears, bracing from the cold afternoon air. His crutches were leaning against the seat beside him. Sherlock stood for a moment and just watched him. John was deep in thought, watching the players. Sherlock was struck suddenly by how crazy he was about John. He couldn’t really place what it was. He never thought he had a "type". Certainly, John was nothing like James. Sherlock’s type was probably people who showed an interest and weren’t instantly repelled by his behaviour. But there had not been many of those. Pretty much James, in the beginning at least, and now John. He didn’t often get distracted by anyone. But there was something more about John. John gave him butterflies in his chest. He’d heard people talk about that and always dismissed it as nonsense. But it wasn’t nonsense at all. John gave him butterflies. He needed to tell John how he felt, because clearly, John was angry about something. John was not happy with Sherlock at the moment. If Sherlock didn’t know better, John seemed jealous of James. He hoped it might mean John was interested, but Sherlock just couldn’t seem to gauge what was going on in John’s mind. He didn’t know what was happening with Sarah either. Sherlock had watched them, during lunch. Sarah had sat beside him. At one point she had run her fingers through his hair and put her head on his shoulder. It had incensed Sherlock, watching from his regular tree spot, pretending to read. How dare she put her hands on John. But John didn’t know. John needed to know, because maybe if he knew…

Sherlock shook his head, clearing his thoughts and looked back over at John, who was staring right at him. Sherlock gave him a smile and an awkward wave and headed over. John's crutches and bag were blocking access, so he walked into the row in front and climbed over the chair back to sit beside him where there was space.

“How are they going?” Sherlock asked casually, nodding to the players.

“They’re okay. I feel guilty sitting here watching,” John admitted, looking very serious.

“I’m sure they appreciate your team spirit though, John,” Sherlock placated. “You must have won some brownie points on the weekend at least.”

John let out a loud sigh, “Sherlock. This is too hard… whatever _this_ is. It’s too hard,” John said, finally looking at him. “I think… I think I’m out. I just can't.”

Sherlock could have pretended he didn’t know what John was saying, after changing direction so suddenly, but he understood perfectly and clearly it had been on John’s mind too. “But John, you’re my only friend. Please don’t give up on me,” he hated how it sounded, that he was begging.

“What are you even doing here…? And on Saturday? You don’t even like football!” John let out in a frustrated laugh. "And I mean, on Friday I thought maybe... there was something... but then..." 

Sherlock didn’t know what to say, so they both sat silently for a moment, looking at the players on the field, not making eye contact. Sherlock needed to think for a minute. He could feel the frustrated heat rising off John for every minute he waited.

“John. At the game on Saturday… it’s not what it… James and me, I mean. I came to see _you_. I really did. And I was excited to see you. After Friday. There was something. And I wanted to be there at the end to see you. James and I are nothing - we _did_ date, last year. It was very brief.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have to…”

Sherlock shook his head. He _needed_ to. “I was young and inexperienced, and I fell under his spell a bit. And then he persuaded me to try the drugs, and I’m not good at moderating my behaviour…”

“You don’t say,” John retorted with a half laugh in frustration.

Sherlock kept going, ignoring John. He just had to keep going. “I ended up in hospital. My brother was furious. I had a stint in rehab and then I had to try and stay away from him. But he found his way back. And he knows. He knows my weaknesses and… I have been clean since we’ve been friends and he’s not happy about it. You were right though. On Saturday he was trying to get me to…”

“Sherlock…”

“You don’t know, John. You don’t know the craving, the burning in your veins, the yearning. It’s all you can think about. But when I’m around you… you make that go away. I don’t know why. I want so badly to _not_ need it. And I didn’t… on Saturday. I resisted,” he said proudly, and for a moment he was genuinely happy that it was true. He _had_ resisted James.

John sat there quietly, thinking.

“But you can’t be around all the time. I mean, we’re friends. I want us to still be friends and…”

“Are we?” John looked across at him so innocently, he was really asking.

“What?” Sherlock was surprised.

“ _Are_ we… just friends?”

“Wait… _aren’t_ we?” Sherlock was hesitant to assume. He suddenly felt a feeling of dread. Of course John wouldn't want to be friends after all of that. But maybe... “or do you mean… do _you_ …?” Sherlock stumbled. He needed to be clearer. He looked at John for a moment to try and figure him out. He thought that maybe John wanted something more from him too. He certainly _hoped_ that was true. That was why he was here. He looked back to the game, unable to keep looking at him if he was going to do this. _Be clear, Sherlock. Be clear._ “John, I like you. Ok? There. I’ve said it. I like you _more_ than just friends. I know I don’t deserve to, but I like you.” Sherlock let that sit in the air but couldn’t look at John yet.

“I like _you_ more than friends,” John said simply, quietly. Sherlock almost didn’t hear it. John was also not making eye contact. 

“I mean, I would _like_ there to be more. I don’t expect you to feel the same but… wait… did you just…?” He looked at John, worried he misheard.

“I _do_ feel the same,” John said, hiding a smirk.

“You do?” Sherlock asked to the side of John's face, wishing he would turn his head.

“Oh yeah. I do,” he agreed and finally he turned and flashed Sherlock a very satisfied, relieved smile.

“You never said anything,” Sherlock was confused. He thought he was going to have to work harder at this.

“Sherlock,” John let out in frustration. “You’re rich, you’re smart. There are so many reasons you are out of my league. Why _would_ I say anything? I’m the awkward new kid and…”

“John! That _league_ you’re talking about? It’s not about money or looks,” Sherlock couldn’t believe John was feeling the same. “You are incredibly smart, by the way. And while I’m a genius, obviously…”

“Obviously,” John agreed, shaking his head with affection at his arrogance.

Sherlock turned on the seat to face John and really look at him. “You are a far better human than I am. I would be lucky to be with someone like you. With all my mess. I don’t expect you to…”

John leaned in and kissed him before he could say any more. It was short, and sweet, but John felt actual fireworks. He didn’t believe that was possible until that moment. When he pulled away, Sherlock was lost for words, his eyebrows raised, John had definitely gained the advantage.

“Oh. Your brother knows, by the way,” John added, while Sherlock was silent.

“What?!” He snapped out of it.

“Yes, he cornered me in the change rooms this morning,” John explained

“Well that’s disturbing,” Sherlock had not expected that.

“It was,” John agreed.

“What did he want?” Sherlock asked, irritated. His brother always got in the way.

“Ahh… to find out my intentions,” John said, blushing slightly.

“What did _you_ say?”

“Well I thought he was your dealer. So I scared him back against a wall, and tried to be threatening.”

“You… you did?” Sherlock could not believe this. It was like Christmas!

“I did,” John grinned, a little satisfied. “Well I was on my crutches, but I still seemed to give him a moment’s pause - defending your honour, and all. Probably not a good first impression though.”

“Wow. No one’s ever stood up to him before. I think I might… like you a bit more right now,” Sherlock said with a laugh.

“Good,” John said as he leaned in and kissed him again, properly.


	19. Chapter 19

“So it’s customary for boyfriends to carry your books to class,” Sherlock said with a blush as he walked up to greet John at his locker, placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

John blushed. “Is that really a thing?” he huffed, taking in Sherlock with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m _making_ it a thing. Especially while you have crutches to contend with. We can argue about it later. For now, I won’t take no for an answer. Unless you want to hold the books and I just carry _you_?” he teased.

“Uh. _NO_ ,” John asserted. “Wow, you’re bossy,” he continued as he shook his head.

“When it comes to your safety, yes,” Sherlock said proudly. He was not going to discuss this.

John laughed and shook his head, passing his books to Sherlock, and grabbing his crutches from the locker beside him that they were leaning against. “Fine,” he accepted. “Sorry I was late this morning.”

“It’s fine. I kept myself busy in the library.”

John looked at him, a little concerned. He was going to have to learn to trust Sherlock and not think about James. His eyes looked clear and he seemed relaxed and happy. _No drugs in the system today,_ John registered in his head.

“Lead the way then, bossy one,” he teased, pointing one of his crutches down the corridor.

Sherlock smirked proudly and walked with John’s books in hand, his own were in his bag hanging off his shoulder.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the lovebirds.” Mike said, sneaking up on them from behind. John stopped suddenly, turning to look at him, almost losing his balance, and Sherlock shot a hand out to steady his back.

“Hey mate.” John said happily.

“Well you kept _this_ quiet. Not sure what Sarah will have to say about it, although I imagine word has spread to her already. It’s all the team could talk about last night after practice!” he joked. “That was quite a scene at training.”

Sherlock blushed, unable to speak. He wasn’t ready to become a public figure. He had been so focussed on John, it hadn’t occurred to him that people would have seen.

John smiled contentedly. “Be gentle with him, Mike. He’s used to being a recluse. Baby steps!”

“Hey!” Sherlock reacted in mock offence. Mike laughed along with them.

“I mean, you’ve picked the best of the litter Sherlock. But you’re essentially a football wife now, just saying,” Mike teased.

“Mike!” John shook his head. The sporty people always loved to tease mercilessly. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock could handle it. “Sherlock _actually_ has some good ideas about how to improve our game, Mike. You might want to hear them,” he redirected.

“John, don’t.” Sherlock warned, even more embarrassed.

“Oh _really?_ ” Mike was genuinely interested and surprised.

“He sure does,” John announced proudly.

“You mean you actually managed to _watch_ some of the play as well?” he teased again.

“Shut it!” John said, firing him a stern look of warning. He did not want to scare Sherlock off on the first day.

“Actually yes,” Sherlock jumped in protectively to let John know he was okay. “I analysed the angles and combinations you were working on. I drew some diagrams last night I can show you.”

Mike looked at John first, the Sherlock, shocked and impressed and John gave him a smug smile. “Told you.”

“Okay – I’d be really interested in that. Shall we talk at break?” he said, finally sounding captainly.

“Uh…sure,” Sherlock replied, suddenly shy again.

“Great. See you then,” Mike said, patting Sherlock on the shoulder and running on past them. He turned back briefly giving John a thumbs up and a wink before running forward again to jump on one of the unsuspecting players further up the hall.

“What just happened?” Sherlock said

“I think we just deflected the gossip and made you part of the team entourage?” John said surprised.

“Oh god,” Sherlock said, feeling slightly sick.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” John said, bumping him with his shoulder in encouragement. Sherlock looked slightly green at the thought, and John thought it was adorable.

“He’s right though, I should probably talk to Sarah…”

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment and John stopped, holding his crutch out to stop Sherlock, “Hey.” Sherlock stopped not making eye contact. “ _Hey_.” John said again more forcefully, until he looked up. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m not changing my mind. Got it?”

Sherlock nodded and let himself smile a little.

“I’m perfectly happy with us. Sarah and I shared a couple of kisses at a party and some text messages. She’ll get over it,” he said with confidence.

Sherlock still felt insecure, but he could try to stay calm.

“So… my brother wants me to invite you to dinner this week… I know it’s…”

“I’d love to.” John said, confidently, interrupting him.

“But your dad…”

“He’s away this week, for work. So it will be fine,” he jumped in again. “When?”

“Friday?” Sherlock asked, tentatively.

“Sounds perfect,” John said with a smile.

And with that Sherlock was able to relax. No one had ever got this close before. He was a little nervous about Mycroft, but John had already stood his ground there. So he hoped it might be okay.

“Hey, will you go on ahead? I’ll meet you at class?” John suddenly said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Up ahead he could see Sarah at her locker.

Sherlock swallowed hard and looked at John, who gave him a gentle nod.

“Ah, Sure. Will you be all right?” Sherlock asked nervously.

“Yeah, you go on. I’ll meet you there,” he said gently.

Sherlock walked past her, avoiding eye contact but glancing back to watch John as he moved towards her on his crutches, tentatively. He gave her a sheepish look and Sherlock could tell he was apologising already. Her body language indicated that she did in fact already know, but she seemed calm. He wished he could be there with John to help, but he supposed that might not be helpful. He had to walk on and leave John to that. He was so caught up in thought, he didn’t notice the person walking towards him. Without warning, John's books were knocked out of his hands, causing a loud scene, snapping him back to the present.

“Oh _sorry_ ,” James said sarcastically, standing over Sherlock as he dropped to the ground to pick them up in a hurry. “How _clumsy_ of me,” he forced out with a snigger.

“James…” Sherlock said under his breath.

“Where’s your _boyfriend_ now? Not here to protect you, huh?” he sneered.

“Sod off, James,” he spat, not looking up.

“Oh, I think it’s adorable, really. You think he can love you. But he’s never going to understand you the way I do, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grabbed at the books and avoided eye contact, aware that others nearby were staring as well. The whole school knew about James and Sherlock and their history. He was sure this would be great fodder for the gossip.

“Hey!” John yelled suddenly from down the corridor, coming up the walkway as fast as he could on the crutches, cursing to himself at how slow he was.

“Here comes your knight, limping up the hall. I’ll see you ‘round, Sherlock. You can count on it,” he said, rolling his eyes. He walked past John who was giving him a violent look, but he slipped his foot under the edge of a crutch on his way past, knocking it from out of John’s hand. John luckily caught his balance and didn’t fall but the crutch cluttered to the ground loudly and he stopped to steady himself, furious that he couldn’t take James on.

“Oh John, are you okay?” Sarah raced up behind him and grabbed his crutch from the ground.

“Thanks Sarah,” he said as she handed it back to him and helped him get steady.

“He’s such a jerk, honestly,” she said angrily. “Just prepare yourself, John. You’re stepping on his territory there,” she warned.

“Yes, so it seems. Don’t worry about me, I can stand my ground… once I get off these _bloody_ crutches at least,” he sulked for a moment. “Thank you, Sarah. Really. For being so lovely. About all of it.”

“John, it’s fine. I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed but I think it’s clear where your heart lies. I’m not one to force something on someone. You’re very sweet to worry. But I’ll be fine. Now get over there and help him!” And she gave him a gentle nudge.

Sherlock was just standing up as John reached him.

“You okay?” John asked urgently.

“It’s fine. Just leave it, John,” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“Hey. Don’t do that,” John scolded him. “I’m not the bad guy.”

“I’m sorry just… everyone is staring. Just… don’t make a fuss okay?” Sherlock said in a rush as he gathered himself up. “Let’s just go to class, all right?”

“Fine,” John agreed, letting it go.

The rest of the students returned to their conversations, the drama now done with.

John couldn’t help feeling slightly unsettled about things. _What had James said?_ He had clearly rattled Sherlock with whatever he had said. John couldn’t wait to be off the crutches and able to take James on properly. James needed to be seriously put in his place.


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock was quiet during the first two lessons of the day, but they sat beside each other for the first time and John kept an eye on him, flashing him little smiles during the class. At one point he handed Sherlock a note while the teacher was busy.

_Thank you for carrying my books and looking after me x_

Sherlock had blushed, and it had seemed to make him feel better. John got the very real impression that Sherlock was not used to someone giving him attention – particularly positive attention. His thoughts wandered to James, who seemed to be focussed very much on controlling and demeaning Sherlock. That was the last thing John wanted. He knew all about that, from the complex relationship he had with his dad and he wanted no part of that for Sherlock. Sherlock was amazing – so intelligent and gorgeous and really a gentle soul. He put on a tough front, but John knew that wasn’t the whole picture. John wanted to take care of him. Having relationships had not become something regular in John’s life because of all the travelling around. Certainly, he had never had anyone as top shelf as Sherlock. It was a little terrifying, if he was honest with himself. The idea that this genius thought John was even worthy to talk to, let alone date. He was still wrapping his head around it. Since their admissions on Monday afternoon and some very nice kisses, John just wanted time alone with him. He wanted to steal him away and enjoy more of him. Sitting through classes and maintain a respectable distance was torture.

By break time, he was ready to be able to sit closer and talk properly. Sherlock had not wanted to talk about what had happened with James, so John was going to have to work up to that, and make sure he really was okay. Sherlock grabbed his books without saying a word and walked confidently through the corridors on his way out to break, leading John towards his favourite spot under the tree.

“Where do you think you’re going mister?” John teased.

Sherlock stopped and looked confused.

“You have an audience with the team captain this break. You promised him your genius, remember?” John reminded him but kept the tone light.

Sherlock suddenly looked terrified. “Oh John, I don’t think I could…”  
“Of course you can. You just show him your drawings and talk him through it like you did with me last night on the phone.”

“But that’s different. You _have_ to like it,” Sherlock moaned.

“I assure you I’m not that easy! You had genuinely good ideas. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to Mike if I didn’t think so,” John smiled. He understood this fear. He felt like that every time he entered a new school, and he gathered Sherlock wasn’t one to mingle with students at the best of times, particularly the football team of all people.

“Really?” Sherlock checked.

John found it adorable that Sherlock was suddenly so insecure. “What’s got into you?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just… what if they think it’s stupid?” Sherlock said, nervously.

“Oh well…” John stopped to think before answering. _What if they did?_ _What if they teased him and all of this affirmed Sherlock’s fears._ “Well, they won’t,” he settled on with some confidence. “But also, because _I’ll_ be there, and I’ll bring my charm,” he grinned, cheekily.

“Oh, you’re charm huh?” Sherlock laughed finally, crowding in to John’s space suddenly, and John sighed relief that he had won him over.

“Yes that’s right,” John said, swallowing hard. _Boy did he want to kiss him right now._

“I see,” Sherlock nodded. John was positive he could read it on his face. The sudden desire, mingled with disappointment that they were having to do this instead. “Well then… lead the way, prince charming,” he said.

John laughed and started moving towards the table that the team sat around in the courtyard. It was in prime positioning to get the best sun. Even in the short time he’d been there he knew, this was their space, and no one dared try sit there. Even if it was empty. This was the “football bench.” Sherlock stood back and looked at them all sitting there – a few of them already comfortable and laughing together. _What would it feel like to have a whole bench full of friends?_ he often wondered. A part of him had no interest in it, but he couldn’t help feeling a little jealous and terrified to be joining this world – even for a brief meeting.

“Are you okay?” John checked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah of course,” Sherlock swallowed hard, and put a happy mask on his face.

“You just seem… rattled after this morning,” John said quietly, not making a move forward to the bench yet.

“It’s fine, John.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment.

“Sherlock.” John was suddenly worried again.

“It’s fine.”

“What did he say to you?” John asked, more firmly. He didn’t want to let this go.

“Nothing he hasn’t said before. I just… don’t want him near _you,_ ” he admitted.

“Well I don’t want him near you either. You do not have to face him anymore. And I’m ready to make him sorry the next time I see him. So he better stay clear.”

Sherlock smiled to himself. He liked John when he was fiery like that. But a small part of him worried anyway. James had connections and he was sneaky. He was devious.

“Just, let it go John. I’m okay.” Sherlock hoped John would heed that warning.

“Sherlock!” Mike cried out when he spotted them standing there, finally, and gestured them towards the table. Some of the team looked a little surprised to see him, but of course they had all been gossiping already about him and John, so they knew it was possible that John might bring his new partner to their sacred bench. Sherlock wondered what they felt about that. As if his very presence in their space would lower their reputations.

“Boys, Sherlock has some ideas to improve our game play. If we think it’s any good, I’ll take him to meet the coach this afternoon. He might be able to help us.”

“Cool,” one of the other boys said.

“So, you and our John?” one of the others asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep.” Sherlock answered awkwardly, nodding. John made a point of gathering his crutches into one hand, so he could put his arm around Sherlock and grin at them all. They shuffled over to make room, and Sherlock put down John’s books to help him sit down, and then slid in beside him, grabbing the crutches off John and lying them down behind them on the ground.

“James and John… sort of chalk and cheese, aren’t they?” Another joked.

“Boys. Please. Let’s focus on what he’s here to show us. And he’s with John now, so it goes without saying he’s under our protection. James may well want to keep his distance,” he nodded at Sherlock in support.

John smiled proudly and gave Sherlock a look with raised eyebrows that said: _See? Everything is fine._

Sherlock responded with a nervous smile again as he fished his notebook out of his bag to find the relevant pages. Sure enough as promised, he had ten pages of scientific diagrams and calculations and statistics. He had put a lot of thought into this last night. It was like a physics assignment all on its own. If it was any good, John would be asking Mike to get coach to sort Sherlock some extra credit or something. It was brilliant. Sherlock started explaining in a flurry of words that John could tell went mostly over the heads of the team. Although somehow, he also linked it beautifully to the game and what he saw at practice, so eventually the boys started nodding in understanding. When he was all done, they all sat there looking at him, not saying a word. John was star struck.

“Fantastic!” he said without thinking.

“It really was,” one of the others said.

“Bloody hell mate, did you even sleep?” Mike let out.

“Wow, John. He’s something huh?” one of the others said.

“He really is,” John said, leaning in to kiss his cheek and Sherlock blushed furiously.

“I told you,” he whispered. “You really are amazing.” So only Sherlock could hear.

And with that it was agreed, Mike would take him to meet the coach, and the boys went on chatting about something else as if it was just any other lunch break. Sherlock was surprised that he was allowed to stay. After a few minutes, he relaxed properly and just took in the group and all their interactions. He’d never sat in a group like this. Not for years. He never quite fit in anywhere. John put his arm around Sherlock comfortably as he ate his sandwich and Sherlock smiled quietly to himself, just enjoying the moment.

But somewhere deep inside him James’ words were still ringing in his ears.

_You think he can love you. But he’s never going to understand you the way I do, Sherlock._

And Sherlock was terrified it might be true.


	21. Chapter 21

Not only did the coach love Sherlock’s work, he basically adopted him as the new assistant, which worked well for them. It meant that Sherlock had a legitimate reason to come to training after school and be at the games on Saturdays – even the ones they had to travel to - and it made him so happy that they would be able to spend the extra time together.

John’s ankle was starting to improve, allowing him to participate in the warm-up and help the team, to work the ankle a bit. He was still going to be stuck on the crutches for another week or so in between, just to give it rest. At least he was able to put his foot on the ground more and half walk, with the crutches for support. That was a relief. His arm pits had been taking a bollocking and he was ready to get back to normal.

Sherlock had tried to help where he could, but he could see John was struggling. He wanted to make it better for John. He wanted the happiness he felt, to be useful. He wasn’t sure how to handle the welcome from the team. It had been strange to be accepted by anyone really. It was not something he was used to. After training had finished, he tentatively walked into the change rooms, not sure just how far his welcome pass would really extend, but John was taking too long to come out of there. Most of the other guys had already walked out and thanked Sherlock. He never would have believed he would befriend the footballers at school. His head was still spinning from that.

As he stepped in tentatively, Mike greeted him. “C’mon in Sherlock. Don’t be shy! You’re part of the team now.”

“I… uh… was just…” Sherlock stuttered.

“Waiting for John? Yeah, he was helping me pack up some gear. Sorry, my fault.”

“No,” sherlock shook his head awkwardly. “No need to apologise. I’m in your space.”

“Sherlock, you seem nervous. You don’t need to be. The guys think you’re great. The coach loves you. And John well…”

“What about me?” John asked as he walked into the room, brushing his hands off on his pants.

“Ah… nothin',” Mike said caught out. “I was just… I’m going to go check in with Coach before I head out. You all good?”

“Yes, thanks. I reckon another week, maybe two and I’ll be back on field with you all. Couldn’t come soon enough either,” John said, slapping Mike on the shoulder.

“Yeah I'm not sure yet that Saturday's game won't be a massacre without your help,” Mike laughed. “Good thing we have Sherlock to guide us." He flashed Sherlock a proud smile. "Anyway, I’ll leave you two…” he said gently as he started to walk out, turning for a moment to say: “Thanks again Sherlock. Great to have you onboard.”

“Sure,” Sherlock said, casually, although his heart still beat fast whenever he spoke to the footballers. Amazing how intimidating they could seem. Even Mike.

“Hey,” John said.

“Hey,” Sherlock replied, smiling shyly.

“You doing okay?” John asked, walking across the changeroom, closer to where Sherlock was standing.

Sherlock nodded and thought for a moment. “It’s definitely… strange,” he said with a gentle smile. John nodded too. Their eyes were burning into each other, not at all focussed on the actual conversation.

“The ankle holding up?” Sherlock asked. John nodded, as he edged towards Sherlock. Sherlock’s heart rate started to climb for a wholly different reason this time. He swallowed. John was looking at him so…

“John…” but before a sentence could form on his lips, John pushed him against one of the lockers and his hands reached into Sherlock’s curls, pulling his head forward, so John could take his lips hungrily.

Sherlock bent his knees to come down a bit closer and let John have control. A moan escaped him at the surprise of it all and John wasted no time kissing him so thoroughly, Sherlock’s brain halted all communication. It was delicious. Like nothing he’d ever experienced. He didn’t even register smells or tastes or any other sensation, his whole system was offline as he focussed on enjoying the moment. John squeezed Sherlock’s curls in his fists and Sherlock let his hands move across John’s back, holding him closer and helping take some of the weight off John’s foot, as they leaned against the locker. Finally, John let the kiss slow and Sherlock wanted it to never end, as John’s lips left his for a moment.

“I’ve been waiting two whole days to get you alone to do that,” John said finally, his voice gravelly after the excitement.

Sherlock couldn’t say anything. He just closed his eyes and let out a sigh, resting his forehead to John’s. They had both been waiting for it. This was nothing like his experience with James. This was all heart and emotion dripping into every syllable, every touch of their lips. He could feel the broken shards inside him healing with every look, with every touch. John was like a healing balm. And Sherlock never wanted it to stop.

John let his hands come out of the wild curls to cup Sherlock’s face. “You’re so gorgeous. I can’t believe I get to even do this,” he sighed.

Sherlock blushed. His entire vocabulary was offline. His hard drive was displaying an error message inside his head.

“You okay?” John asked, smiling.

Sherlock just nodded quietly, and John laughed. “Was that too much?”

Sherlock shook his head to confirm he was perfectly okay with it and before he could be embarrassed about not speaking, he leaned in and took John’s lips for himself, more gently and slowly this time. He wanted to let John know how happy he was.

A throat clearing pulled them out of the kiss and they both looked over to see Mike standing in the doorway, observing the scene in front of him with great glee. John’s crutches were in his hand.

“Coach is about to lock up. Thought you would rather me interrupt, than him.” Mike had a wicked grin on his face and John couldn’t help blushing. “You left these outside,” he continued, putting them down on one of the benches in front of him.

“Thanks,” John said, clearing his throat, and letting go of Sherlock. Sherlock missed the contact already, but helped push John back upright and steadied him on his feet.

“You need a lift or anything?” Mike asked.

“No, I’ll just get the bus,” John said.

“No. It’s okay I’ll take him,” Sherlock stated firmly.

Mike nodded and put his hands in his jacket pockets. “Right. Well then, see you tomorrow boys.” He shook his head to himself, smiling, as he walked out, leaving them alone again.

“You don’t have to do that,” John said nervously.

“I want to. Besides, then we get more time together on the drive.” Sherlock was making it clear this was not up for discussion.

“Okay. Thanks.” John wasn’t going to argue. It was a long enough drive and the thought of continuing more of this on the trip gave him a thrill. He couldn’t get enough of Sherlock, and every little bit more he was allowed to have, only made him crave more.

Sherlock walked over to the bench and grabbed the crutches, bringing them to John.

“Back on these. If your ankle is going to get better, you need to rest it too,” he said sternly.

“Yes sir,” John said mockingly, giving a half salute.

“Well it’s true!” Sherlock bristled.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just so frustrating. Watching them all work so hard and I’m just stuck like this,” John admitted.

“John, it might surprise you, but they _can_ play without you. They will be fine. Besides, they have me now.”

John giggled. He knew this was Sherlock’s fake bravado, and he didn’t really feel that confident about it. But it was sweet that he was trying to reassure John by using his new position as team consultant. “Come on then. Master playmaker. Let’s get out of here. Can you grab my bag?”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock smiled.

As they walked out of the shed and towards the carpark, talking happily together, John didn’t notice the familiar car in the parking lot, until the driver’s door opened and his father stepped out.

“John,” the voice caught him by surprise and the smile fell from his face.

“Dad?”

“You ready to go?” he said, as he looked Sherlock up and down. His dad had never collected him from school. Not since he was little. Not to mention his dad was meant to be miles away for work.

“Uh… yeah. Is everything okay?” he looked to Sherlock, confused and disappointed that his plans were already going to be ruined, but concerned suddenly. Why would his dad be here?

“We can talk about that later. Let’s go,” he said firmly, getting back in the car.

John shuffled his crutches, to allow Sherlock to hand him his bag and put it over his shoulder.

“I guess I’ll…”

“It’s okay. We can talk tomorrow. Or text me later?” Sherlock offered gently, but John didn’t miss the look of disappointment in his face too.

John wanted to at least kiss him goodbye, but that wasn’t going to be a good idea with his dad watching over them. He was already preparing for the lecture on the way home. After what his dad had said at the game, about Sherlock. And now here they were together again. His heart rate picked up, the anxiety already climbing. “Okay. Thanks.” He flashed Sherlock a reassuring smile before heading to his dad’s car.


	22. Chapter 22

The early arrival home of John’s father had been a big surprise, but it was a short visit. A short visit with news that he was dreading sharing with Sherlock. He had spent the last two days being weirdly quiet and distant. Sherlock had chosen to pull back and give John space, not pushing him to talk. In a way it had been good, but John felt the guilt building in him. He knew that Sherlock already lacked confidence in their relationship and he knew his distance would be playing to that insecurity, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

How was he going to tell Sherlock? What was he even going to _do_ about it? If there was anything that _could_ be done?

He was grateful that his father had left again this morning, so he could still come to dinner at Sherlock’s house. He wasn’t sure what Mycroft’s motives were, or whether it was a good idea to go, but he needed some alone time with Sherlock to fix things and talk at least. He just hoped he could get through it.

Approaching the front door to the house was terrifying. It wasn’t really a house. More of a castle; a mansion at the very least. A butler answered the door – _an actual butler!_ \- and he was led inside. He couldn’t help glancing up at the high ceiling, where a fancy antique chandelier hovered over the foyer area, lighting a table and large vase filled with an extravagant white lily arrangement. _Live flowers_ , he noted. Probably refreshed every few days by the staff. What was he doing here? It was so far from his own life experience that he felt he was dirtying the space just by standing in it. He wanted to completely shrink away to nothing.

“John, lovely to see you again,” Mycroft simpered as he entered the foyer. John jumped a little, caught deep in his thoughts of inadequacy. He extended his hand and they shook. Mycroft was being almost sickly sweet, and John found it unsettling after his last experience meeting him. It put him a bit off balance.

“Mycroft,” John said formally, his hand was sweaty, and his voice shook more than he would have liked. “Thank you for organising transport. I thought Sherlock would have been at practice and…”

“Not a problem at all, it was my pleasure. Sherlock needed to be home for an appointment today. He should be…”

“John!” Sherlock came rushing down the stairs to meet him. His face was lit up just at the notion that John was here. In that moment, John’s heart swelled. This was what he had always wanted. Someone who smiled like that at his very presence. _And now…_ his heart plummeted. How was he going to say this?

The three of them stood awkwardly in the foyer. Sherlock gave Mycroft a look that said: _leave us be, brother._

“Well,” Mycroft suddenly cleared his throat, “dinner will be about an hour if you two wanted to…”

“Come on,” Sherlock interrupted, grabbing at John’s bag.

John moved his crutch to the side, to let it off his shoulder and Sherlock grabbed it and started back up the stairs excitedly. He looked up at the fancy staircase, and then at Mycroft, who gave him a polite nod and left the foyer to go about his business. John put both crutches in one hand and started to work on the stairs, holding on to the railing with his free hand. _Marble_. It was an actual marble staircase. Did people really have those?

“Do you want me to help?” Sherlock offered, already halfway up.

“No, I’ve got this. Just give me a minute,” John laughed nervously, grunting as he pulled himself up slowly.

“Sherlock, this house…”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. Sorry.”

“God, don’t be sorry. I’m just embarrassed you came and saw my hovel of a cottage.”

“John, you’re a military family. That was a perfectly lovely home.”

“None of them ever feel like home,” he moaned as he caught up.

Sherlock could see John was trying to be polite, but was struggling on the stairs, and he felt guilty. He should have just taken John to the sitting room, but he really wanted some alone time with John. They desperately needed it. The last two days had been… strained. He needed to figure it out without his brother prying. And his room was up on the first floor. Finally, John made it to the top, putting the crutches back under his arms to move the rest of the way.

“Just kick me from the top stair when it’s dinner time and I’ll roll back down,” he joked.

Sherlock stood at the doorway of his room, taking the joke in but not laughing. His brow creased at John’s odd humour.

“It’s a joke,” John added uncomfortably, seeing that Sherlock was tense.

“Right. Well here it is. My room,” he shrugged, gesturing to the space.

John cleared the doorway with his crutches, and Sherlock closed the door quietly behind him.

The room was simple. Larger than his own room - but that wasn’t hard. In fact, it was almost the size of John’s entire lounge room, he was pretty sure. There was a double bed, instead of John’s pathetic single bed. There were some science charts on the wall and a desk under the window covered in papers chaotically, a laptop closed on the chair. The tall windows faced the garden outside, with heavy dark drapes pulled to either side and held in place with gold ropes. The whole thing was insane. The fact that he, ordinary John, was in any way interesting to Sherlock, or worthy of someone living like _this_ was hard for him to comprehend. _Well it wouldn’t be a problem for much longer_ , John thought to himself sadly. _Just get through this._

As he looked around, everything was quiet. Sherlock got very nervous having John there in his room, and he stood back just observing John take in his surrounds.

“John…” Sherlock began. John moved over and sat on the edge of Sherlock’s bed to take the weight off his ankle, which was aching a little bit after the training this afternoon. He dropped his crutches gently to the floor beside the bed.

“Sorry, is this okay if I sit here?” John asked.

“Yes, of course it is.” Sherlock stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, wanting desperately to sit beside John but not wanting to crowd him.

John patted the bed beside him, inviting Sherlock over to sit beside him, which he finally did.

“How did practice go?” Sherlock asked, trying to make gentle conversation.

“Yeah it was fine. I’m just worn out. Amazing how one little ankle can exhaust you so much,” John huffed.

“Pain is funny like that,” Sherlock replied. “Did they use my plan? At training?”

“Yes, they did. It actually worked perfectly. I think tomorrow is going to be a cracker game,” John said with a smile which dropped just as quickly, when he made eye contact again.

Sherlock didn’t know what to say, so he just sat quietly looking at his hands in his lap.

John reached over and put his hand in Sherlock’s and Sherlock held on to it tightly, finally looking up at John, afraid of what he’d see there. John’s eyes were intense, taking Sherlock in. Sherlock tried to understand what his eyes were trying to say, and John leaned in and took his lips gently. They hadn’t kissed since the other afternoon and Sherlock had been craving it so badly. Wanting to have John’s lips on his. He let go of John’s hands to turn towards him and get a better angle, putting his hands on John’s shoulders. John put his hands under sherlock’s arms and grabbed onto his back, pulling him closer. As the kiss became more passionate, Sherlock pushed John down onto the bed, both on their sides where they could enjoy it more fully. Sherlock put his leg over John’s to hold him in place, the kiss getting heavier with every passing second. John had wanted this too - some time to just enjoy this, even for just this little while. But his head would not stop interrupting. He broke away from the kiss and closed his eyes taking a few deep breaths.

Sherlock’s heart dropped. He had been worried that maybe John had found him lacking in some way - it was his greatest fear. And the last couple of days had made him incredibly nervous. They had been to classes together, sat together at lunch, but something wasn’t right. There wasn’t a lot of opportunities to hold hands when John had crutches to contend with, and John had clearly been distracted. It had taken so much of his energy, to persuade himself that he was imagining things. That John wasn’t pulling away, regretting his decision to be with him. Maybe James was right - maybe he really _was_ unlovable.

“John, what’s going on with you?” Sherlock finally asked nervously, his voice quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I know I’ve been distracted,” he said rubbing his hand over his face before looking at Sherlock deciding how to tackle this.

“Tell me what’s going on. You’re freaking me out a bit. Is it me? You can tell me if it is. Are you… regretting this?”

“No. God no. Sherlock! You’re amazing,” he said, running a hand along Sherlock’s cheekbone, shaking his head in disbelief still, that he was allowed to be in the same space as this person.

“Really? You’re sure? Because...”

“Yes, I know. I know,” John said, sitting back up. “You’re right, okay? I have some news.”

“Oh god. What is it?” Sherlock asked, sitting up too, to prepare himself. He had really been hoping he was imagining things, but now he was scared to hear the answer.

“Umm… you know when my dad surprised me the other day?” he began.

“Yes. You said he was meant to be away for work?” Sherlock offered, tentatively.

“That’s right, he was. But while he was away, they offered him a promotion,” John continued.

“Right.” Sherlock’s heart began to beat faster. “Well that’s good right?” he tried to sound hopeful.

“Yes. He’s very happy. They let him come back home and see us, to let us know the news.”

But John didn’t sound hopeful. Sherlock’s stomach was dancing with worry at the fact that John didn’t sound very happy at all.

“Well that’s great. Isn’t it great?” he checked.

“The promotion comes with a downside,” John said calmly.

“Right…” Sherlock answered nervously.

“He’s been posted,” he continued.

“Posted? What does that mean?”

John couldn’t even look at him as he continued. “They’ve… uh… _moved_ him to a new location again. An opening came up in a position he’s been hoping for but it’s in the North. _Far_ North. So, we have to… uh… to move,” he finally said.

“What?!” Sherlock moved back a bit from John, to take his face in more fully, hoping to see something to indicate it was a joke. “No…” he whispered, looking all over John’s face again. When John said nothing, he became more frantic. “No!” he said more loudly, standing up. The guilt he could see on John’s face, and the fact he wouldn’t look at Sherlock properly, made it very clear this was _not_ a joke. And if it was, it certainly wasn’t funny.

“I know. I’m sorry. This is what happens. This is why I don’t make friends, or get into relationships,” John said, shaking his head in frustration. He was so calm and matter-of-fact about it that it rubbed Sherlock the wrong way.

“But we just… you _can’t_ go. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t have a say in it,” John said with resignation.

“What are we going to do?” Sherlock said pacing back and forth in front of John, his mind already swimming with options.

“There’s nothing we _can_ do. I’ll be here another week or so… and then… we’ll be gone.” The reality of it sat in the air between them and Sherlock stopped pacing.

“A week? _A week?!_ But… how… what… no! How can you be so calm?!” he shouted finally.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!”

“But I am, Sherlock. I’m so terribly sorry,” John was finally starting to sound sad.

“John.” Sherlock came and sat beside him again, turning to face him. “But things are just getting good. With us. I won’t accept it. No.”

“I’m s…”

“Don’t.” Sherlock stopped him. He couldn’t hear it again.

John hugged his arm around Sherlock’s back and put his head against Sherlock’s arm. “All we can do is enjoy the time we have now, okay?”

“No! What’s the point in that?” Sherlock pushed away and stood up, to start pacing again.

“We can be happy? For a bit at least. I mean, I still want to kiss you,” John tried to sound flirtatious in hopes of lifting the mood. Why did he have to ruin it? He shouldn’t have said anything tonight.

Sherlock stopped pacing. He was wrestling with the desire to go back to just kissing or wanting to rage about this. He stood silent for too long, just staring.

“Maybe… maybe I should just go,” John said awkwardly, realising this would ruin their evening now.

“ _NO!_ No… you’re right. I don’t want you to go,” Sherlock said, sitting back down beside him. “Please don’t.”

John grabbed on to both of Sherlocks hands and gave them a squeeze, offering Sherlock a sad smile.

“You’re right. If that’s all we’ve got, I want that much at least,” Sherlock admitted.

“Me too. I’m sorry, Sherlock. _So_ sorry.” John leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Sherlock grabbed on to him like the world was ending and they fell back onto the bed to continue making the most of it.  
  


* * *

Dinner was understandably awkward. Sitting around the giant dining table, which was the size of two cars - even sitting down one end together - they were heavily spaced apart. The silverware alone was probably worth more than John's parents’ life savings. Sherlock sat watching his food sulkily, not able to make eye contact or conversation. Nothing but the sounds of silver cutlery clinking against fine china as they ate. The silence in the room was painful. John knew Sherlock’s mood was his fault, and he was desperate to try and at least make the dinner go smoothly. He looked sideways briefly to catch Sherlock violently attacking his meat with his knife, his face screwed up in frustration.

John’s need to fill awkward spaces with conversation or pleasantries was a curse at times, and he wanted Mycroft to like him – even though he knew Sherlock didn’t care about that.

“The meal is lovely. Thanks, Mycroft.” He smiled across the table and Mycroft looked confused.

“Oh, I didn’t make this. We have a cook,” he said snidely.

John cringed internally. _Of course they did._

“Oh, sorry. I just thought… I remember Sherlock was helping you the other day when you were cooking. I thought that maybe…”

“No. _Ordinarily,_ no. The cooking is sort of a hobby of mine, I suppose. I wouldn’t inflict it on guests,” he said with a pinched smile.

John didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so he settled on a polite smile in return before continuing to eat. Sherlock still sat, saying nothing. The fact that Sherlock didn’t make a sound or tease his brother at this open opportunity spoke volumes to John about his mood.

“So John,” Mycroft took the conversation over. “Sherlock tells me you’re the star player on the football team. That’s good isn’t it?” John looked over at Sherlock in disbelief, but he still wouldn’t look up. Something in the tone of Mycroft’s question made John think he was being mocked.

“Well, I uh… I suppose I play well. Not much good to them at the moment though. I think ‘star player’ is a slight exaggeration given I’ve only played half a game with them, really.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mycroft replied. 

“Sherlock’s really the star now. He has been analysing their play and coming up with tips for the coach.”

This was clearly news to Mycroft and he raised his eyebrows and fixed his gaze on Sherlock, who looked up briefly with an odd expression on his face that John couldn’t read.

“Really? I thought you hated football,” Mycroft asked.

“Well... it’s become more… interesting lately,” Sherlock offered.

“Yes, I can see that,” Mycroft said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Sherlock bemoaned and returned to looking at his dinner.

“Well they missed Sherlock this afternoon at training,” John leapt in to try and keep the peace.

“Yes, Sherlock had to see his psychologist this afternoon,” Mycroft offered.

Sherlock dropped his cutlery loudly in disgust and gave his brother a death stare.

“Oh?” John asked, intrigued. Sherlock had not mentioned this.

“Yes,” Mycroft continued, ignoring Sherlock’s threat. “Our parents travel so much for work these days. I’ve been appointed as his legal guardian in their absence and well, you know he has issues - of course you do. With James back on the scene, I was… concerned. Sherlock needs to be regularly assessed as part of the agreement with our parents. It was a condition of being allowed to have you for dinner, that he agree to see the psychologist this afternoon,” he finished.

The room returned to the awkward silence, as if Sherlock’s most embarrassing secret had been laid bare to them all. Sherlock delved his head back towards his food and began violently cutting at it again, putting all his focus into it. He blushed furiously and refused to comment. John reached his foot out under the table to tap it against Sherlock’s as a sign of reassurance. But Sherlock showed no sign of acknowledgment.

“What are your plans beyond school John?” Mycroft moved on, but Sherlock knew Mycroft was pleased with himself and was just getting warmed up. John was caught, busy chewing a mouthful of food and Sherlock looked over when he didn’t answer immediately.

“John is wanting to become a doctor, brother.” He said it with pride and gave John a smile.

“Is that so?” Mycroft said to John with great interest, ignoring his brother, and John nodded, desperately trying to swallow fast enough to say his own piece.

“Well yes, it depends on a lot of factors though. Moving around schools hasn’t really helped my grades,” he admitted.

“You move a lot then?”

“Yes, a bit too much it seems,” he said, looking over at Sherlock, who closed his eyes at the comment. “My father’s military, you see. So, he gets moved from post to post…” John continued, and Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped his cutlery loudly on to the plate and stood up.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft checked, concerned.

“Sorry…” he said before walking out of the room.

John watched him go, and blushed, knowing he was the cause of the outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he offered to Mycroft. “I shouldn’t have come to dinner. It’s my fault he’s upset. I've... well I should go and...” he began to stand up already.

Mycroft looked at him confused.

“Thank you for dinner. It was lovely,” he said, as he grabbed his crutches to head out of the room. He grabbed his bag from near the door - where they had placed it on their way to dinner - and let himself out, ready to leave. It occurred to him that he had no way of getting home, without their driver, and he would have to go back in and ask for help, embarrassingly.

But as he stepped out, there in front of him was Sherlock, sitting on the top step.

“Sherlock…” John began, moving closer.

“John, I don’t know if I can do it,” Sherlock confessed.

“Do what?” John asked.

“Spend a whole week with you, pretending everything is fine and normal, and falling for you... only to say goodbye.” He put his head in his hands.

“Oh Sherlock." John put his crutches down and sat beside him on the step. "I know. I understand, _believe_ me I do. This is my fault. I should never have started something. I _know_ how often this happens. I just thought... well I hoped… I got comfortable at this nice school, with a purpose and nice friends, and… and _you_. For a moment, I forgot what my life is. I forgot how often we do this. And I pulled you into it. It’s my fault,” John said apologetically.

“I can’t do it.” Sherlock had spent all of dinner thinking about this.

“I know,” John admitted.

“But also…” he looked up at John who was staring straight ahead now, not wanting to make Sherlock uncomfortable. He reached out and touched John’s face, “…also, I can’t stay away.”

John turned his head suddenly, surprised, his eyes sad.

“I know. Me too.” He gave Sherlock a sad smile.

They leaned in and kissed each other again. A kiss that was so filled with aching hearts and sadness they could taste it. The bittersweet kiss of finding someone to love, only to have it ripped from you. This would have to be enough. For now.


	23. Chapter 23

There was nothing worse than having to sit on the sidelines and watch a game take place - particularly a game that wasn’t going well. A game you couldn’t do anything about. John was tense and frustrated, and the only positive side was that he got to sit on the bench with Sherlock and spend more time together. He was annoyed – and so was Sherlock. The team wasn’t doing what they were supposed to. The score was down, and nothing seemed to be connecting for the team. Sherlock was stressed.

It was unfair, as they had shared some lovely moments on the bus, travelling to the host school, and early in the game before they started losing. Sherlock and John were able to just enjoy each other’s company, sitting together, feeling the heat between them, and sharing glances, commenting on the other team. They were laughing. They were happy. Things were okay between them. It was really great. So great that it was starting to make John’s heart ache a bit. He didn’t know how he was ever going to say goodbye to Sherlock. He _thought_ he could do this. He thought it was the best idea – to still have this week together. But even though they had agreed to continue things, it was strained between them because they didn’t know what it meant – what this should look like. How did you fit a whole relationship into the space of a week, and still make it mean something?

“NO! That’s not what I said!!!” Sherlock yelled interrupting John’s thoughts. “John. What are they doing?! Why are they playing like this?” Sherlock stood up, gesturing at the field as he started to pace in front of the bench.

“I don’t know,” was all John could reply.

“I have to say something,” Sherlock said, full of frustration.

“Sherlock,” John tried to warn him, hoping he would sit back down. He didn’t want the team to get a fine, for bad behaviour. He had not witnessed Sherlock be so invested like this before. Not in football, at least.

“No. I _have_ to say something. It’s my job now. The coach asked me to make a plan. This is _not_ the plan. Idiots!” he yelled again.

John smiled to himself. Sherlock had gone from hating football to having a passionate opinion about it. And he was adorable when he was angry. He started to wonder if… maybe… maybe things could work long distance? It wouldn’t be so hard, would it? To stay in touch? To wait a couple of years before they met up again? Maybe they could make that work. _Maybe?_

“Don’t even think about it John,” Sherlock said suddenly, still pacing.

“What?” John said, blushing with guilt. _I didn’t say it out loud did I?_ he thought to himself.

“I can hear you from here. You think so loudly. When has long distance ever worked?” Sherlock said bluntly.

“How could you _possibly_ know that’s what I was thinking?” John said, equal parts annoyed and amazed.

“Because it’s what _I’m_ thinking. It’s _all_ I can think about. How we can make this _not_ end after the week? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?” Sherlock stopped to look right at John.

“Yes… but…” he stuttered.

“Right. So, _stop_ it. I need to concentrate on the game. _You_ should be concentrating on the game,” Sherlock said, looking at John sideways. 

“I’m not even playing!” John exclaimed. Sherlock was being so serious.

“But you _will_ be, once your ankle…” he stopped, realising suddenly, that of course John may not be back on the field with this team and he swallowed as reality hit him hard. “Anyway…” he shook his head to clear it of that thought. “I’m going to talk to Mike. Look they’re coming off now anyway, and I need to talk some sense into them!” Sherlock sounded so business like as he stood more upright, preparing to storm across to them.

“Don’t be too rough Sherlock. They’re doing their best,” John placated.

“They need a good kick! Aren’t you in charge of the water?” he directed at John.

“Yes.” John jumped up realising he was definitely _not_ on task. This working together on the team thing was a bit dangerous. “Yes, you’re right, I’m on it! Gosh you’re bossy when you get competitive,” John said to him. _And you’re adorable too,_ he thought to himself.

Sherlock flashed him a smile over his shoulder as he walked towards the change rooms, as if he had heard.

John delivered the water to the team as Sherlock ranted at them. The coach let him have his way. Whatever he ended up saying had an impact, because they came back for the second half and they were like a different squad. Everything was better, they were catching up finally.

Sherlock was now yelling for completely the opposite reason - in excitement. John caught Sarah’s eye across the field. She was still coming to every game and had in the last week managed to end up with one of the other players, and they were happy. He was glad. She smiled at him, eyebrows lifted high in surprise watching Sherlock’s excitement over the game. John smiled back and shook his head. Sherlock was full of surprises. Oh, how he loved Sherlock. The thought caught him off guard. He hadn’t realised how much his feelings had grown over such a short space of time. He certainly wouldn’t let Sherlock know that yet. That was a sure-fire way of scaring him off or killing the mood at least - particularly with his impending departure. No, he would keep that to himself. 

The team finally got ahead, winning out in the final minutes. Sherlock could not sit still the whole time, bouncing on the bench with excitement and jumping up to cheer and scream. When they kicked the winning goal, Sherlock leapt on John, both arms around his neck and kissed him with complete abandon.

John couldn’t stop laughing at how excited he was. “Don’t tell me you actually _like_ football now?” he choked out between laughing and kissing.

“It’s growing on me!” Sherlock shrieked, his usually low sexy voice, far higher pitched and manic with the excitement.

* * *

On the bus trip back, the whole team was cheering and singing in celebration. Everyone had hugged and thanked Sherlock for pushing them harder and the coach had affirmed that Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere. He was essential to the team now. John had found a spot at the very back corner of the bus for them though, sensing that they needed some space, alone.

Sherlock was quiet, sulky even. His hand was entwined with John’s, rubbing his thumb against John’s hand in a hypnotic rhythm but staring out the window, not talking.

“You okay?” John asked, trying to gauge his mood.

“How do you do this every week? How do you live with this tension? With these emotions of… wanting to win so badly and needing to control it?” he asked.

“Yeah it can be tough,” John replied

“It is! I don’t know how you do it,” he said, looking towards John. John’s heart ached at how innocent he sounded.

“I don’t know, it’s just part of the game, I guess.” John didn’t know what to say. They just did it without thinking.

“I don’t know if I like it or not. It’s so draining,” he said.

“You did great though,” John said, giving him a gentle smile.

“Thanks.” Sherlock smiled back softly, but then looked back out the window.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this… when you go,” he said quietly, without looking at John. The admission was hard for him. It was so nice to be a part of the team, to be accepted. And it was thrilling. But coming every week and seeing a John-less field, would just be even more heartbreaking. A silence fell between them, as they just enjoyed sitting together, holding hands and sharing the space. Both deep in thought. Sherlock looked forward, watching the team enjoying celebrations together - loud stories from the game, the school song sung loudly over and over.

“You haven’t told them… have you?” Sherlock finally asked.

“No,” John answered quietly, guiltily. He knew he had to.

“Are you just going to disappear without telling the team?” he asked sadly.

“Just…" John began, annoyed that he was being accused, rather accurately. "No… of course not... I just… want to know exactly when we’re leaving before I… I don’t know. I guess I kept meaning to but I just… couldn’t,” he finally admitted.

Sherlock nodded but didn’t say anything. There was no judgement. John wondered if Sherlock was worried he would leave without saying anything to _him_ as well.

“Hey. I won’t leave without telling you, okay?” he reassured him.

Sherlock didn’t answer that. He kept looking out the window. “Are the guys going out after?” he finally asked.

“No, not tonight. Mike has a thing early tomorrow. And the coach wanted them to get some rest. So, it’s an early night this time,” John replied.

“Right,” Sherlock nodded. “Will you let me take you home? Am I _allowed_ to drop you home? We can have some extra time together – since we missed out last time…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that will be okay. Let me just…” he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, and then his face dropped. 

Sherlock noticed. “What is it?”

“Ah… Nothing.” John adjusted his face to pretend everything was okay but clearly there was a message on his screen that he didn’t like. “Let me just send mum a message and let her know I have a lift home first and make sure that’s okay.”

“John…” Sherlock tried.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. It will be fine.” John was not going to discuss it.

“Did you want to do something together tomorrow maybe?” Sherlock was really trying.

“Ah… I don’t think I can sorry. I know we don’t have…” John started, and he saw Sherlock’s face drop. “I _want_ to. Really. But… my mum gets a bit crazy when we move. She’ll be packing, and cleaning and she’ll need my help.”

“Oh sure. Of course. Do you want me to come and help?” he offered.

“No. That’s probably not a good idea,” John didn’t offer any extra explanations. Sherlock tried to not let it bother him.

“Okay,” he answered quietly, starting to look back out the window.

“But,” John redirected, making Sherlock look back at him, “a lift would be great.” He reset his smile, but Sherlock couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Something had changed his mood.

“John…” Sherlock tried to ask again, his face concerned.

“I’m fine Sherlock," John repeated. "It’s fine.”

Sherlock didn’t push any further. He just bent a bit and put his head on John’s shoulder, snuggling against him for the rest of the trip, their fingers intertwined and gripping on. And just for a moment, Sherlock pretended that nothing was wrong, that there wasn’t a dark cloud hanging over their heads. The stopwatch keeping time, counting down the days, the hours, before it would all be over.


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock was waiting outside their classroom nervously. John had not been answering his texts or calls since after the game on Saturday. It was making him anxious. He had hoped to find John at the library in the morning, but he was not there. He hadn’t expected him to be. He was clearly dealing with a lot and as seemed to be his way, he stopped talking. Sherlock had hoped after last week, maybe things would be different. Maybe John would at least let him in, but things were still new between them. He hoped there still _was_ a “them”. He kept his eyes glued to the front doors in the distance, hoping John would walk through them. Every time a student pushed the doors open, he would look up, his heart in his throat. After fifteen minutes of disappointment he stopped looking, slumping against the wall, hugging his bag against his chest for comfort, deep in thought. _John wouldn’t leave without telling me, surely?_

Just as the door to their classroom was opened, and everyone started to file in, Sherlock caught movement again and looked up. It was a man and woman he recognised – _the Watsons_ – and trailing behind them on his crutches still, was John. He was not looking in Sherlock’s direction. His father was speaking, and John was listening in, looking very obedient. They stopped in the foyer for a moment, to get their bearings.

“ _John… John!”_ Sherlock whispered loudly, hoping he would hear.

John’s eyes flicked across to him. His shoulders were slightly hunched. He looked defeated and Sherlock didn’t know what to do. He tried to signal for him to come over, but John wouldn’t move. He didn’t smile. They walked towards the office and Sherlock’s heart started racing. _Why wasn’t he willing to talk?_

“What’s going on?” Mike asked as he walked up to Sherlock. “Hey, what’s John doing over there?” he waved in John’s direction. John didn’t respond, he just dropped his head in disappointment. “What the hell?”

“His dad’s been transferred.” Sherlock explained.

“What?!” Mike yelled out.

“Yeah, they’re apparently leaving next week.”

“That can’t happen! The team…” Mike began then looked Sherlock up and down, “Oh _mate_. How are you doing?”

“Not great.” Sherlock admitted.

“Well we can’t do anything about that now. Come on. Let’s get inside. We can chase him down later.”

“If he’s still here,” Sherlock said, moping.

“Come on.” Mike pushed him inside the class and guided him up the back.

For the whole first lesson, Sherlock didn’t listen to a word. Nothing sank in at all. All he could picture was John’s face. He had looked so pathetic. Like he had already given up. This could not be happening when they had finally found something good. When they had a short amount of time left together and were supposed to be making the most of it.

Mike guided him from their period one class to the next. If he talked, Sherlock didn’t hear anything. He was in a daze. He needed to see John, to talk to him. He needed to know what was happening. They were clearly here for a meeting. Was it going to all be over already? Was he already leaving today?

As they rounded the corner to the second class, John was already waiting outside the door, leaning his weight on the wall, his crutches relaxed under his arms.

“John!” he suddenly livened up and ran over to him expecting a happy reception.

“Did you do this?” he accused, his face cold, moving his weight back upright.

“What?” Sherlock pulled up short, in shock.

“Was it you? Was all of that _your_ doing?” he spat again.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asked, not understanding.

“The scholarship.” John’s face was stony, and he was looking all over Sherlock’s face for any sign of a lie.

“The what?” Sherlock’s heart began to race, trying to desperately understand the situation.

“The _scholarship_ Sherlock. The _Holmes_ Foundation Scholarship.”

Sherlock paused, swallowing hard. _Oh god._ Mycroft had mentioned a scholarship ages ago.

“You think you can just _buy_ me? Do you know how insulting it is to be _paid_ for? You think I want to stay if you’re _paying_ for me to stay?”

Sherlock was shocked, unable to speak, as if he’d been slapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, John.” His face flushed with embarrassment as the others around them started getting wind of the argument.

“Hey. John that’s enough.” Mike said, walking closer, trying to keep the peace, seeing Sherlock’s face turn pale.

“No Mike,” John levelled him with a vicious stare. “Don’t interfere. _That_ was the most humiliating thing in my life. My parents had to be all polite and grateful, but really, I know my dad will be fuming when I get home. And you know what that _means_ , don’t you Sherlock?”

“John… stop this,” Sherlock tried to reach out and put a hand on his arm, but John pulled away.

“I can’t even _look_ at you! You and Mycroft must have taken such pity on me the other night. Poor John. We’ve got so much spare money, we might as well throw some his way. Is that how it is?”

“No. God, what are you even saying? You know that’s not.” Sherlock’s brain was spinning. How had this spiralled so badly out of control?

“Mycroft was _there_. In our meeting. Offering a scholarship. It was _humiliating_. I had to pretend I didn’t know who he was,” John said, shaking his head in disgust.

“ _Mycroft?_ Was there? I don’t understand what’s going on,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, well apparently he wants to fund my next year and half at school – including boarding – so I can stay,” John spat.

“Wow.” He swallowed hard again. He had no idea how to fix this. A part of him was thrilled at the news. _Why wasn’t John thrilled at the news?_

“Wow? That’s all you can say?” John replied. There was laughter in his tone, but it wasn’t humorous, it was bitter.

“Hey John, cut it out,” Mike intervened, seeing Sherlock getting noticeably more upset.

“Everything alright? Are you three going to join us?” the teacher asked at the doorway.

“Yes, sir, on our way,” Mike said nervously. “Come on guys. Leave that for now.”

“Oh sure, whatever. What’s a little dignity anyway,” John snarked. “Can you imagine what my dad will say when he realises that was your _brother_? That we’re… that you’re… you two are _unbelievable!_ ” he yelled finally.

Sherlock’s spine straightened in defiance. “You think I had anything to do with this?”

“Well? Didn’t you? What else am I supposed to think?”

“John,” Sherlock pleaded, tilting his head imploring John to stop this, whatever it was.

“Don’t speak to me,” he said angrily as he started to manoeuvre his crutches to head into the room.

Before John got through the doorway, Sherlock had already run off.

“John.” Mike chastised him. John looked back to see Sherlock’s figure disappearing down the corridor. “Nice one, mate. That was uncalled for.”

“What?” John asked angrily. He was in such a bad mood he couldn’t shake it, even though he knew he was out of line.

“He didn’t know, John. He’s been worried about you all morning, waiting desperately to see you. He really didn’t know,” Mike tried to explain.

“Yeah? Well maybe he can talk to his brother to swoop in and fix that too.”

“Hey. I get that you’re upset. That you don’t want to leave him, and you don’t want to take charity. But I’ve gotta say, what you did just now... that was not okay - to take it out on him like that.”

John let out a sigh. He knew. Where did that anger come from? It had surprised even himself. He was behaving like… like his _father_. His blood ran cold at the very thought. He had to fix this. Now.

“Thanks Mike. Can you…?” John began.

“Yeah I’ll cover for you,” Mike said calmly. “Go.”


	25. Chapter 25

John tried Sherlock’s phone but there was no answer. There was no sign of him anywhere. Not under the tree. Not the library. He hadn’t meant to attack him, but his emotions were so on edge, it just came out of him. His first instinct was to push Sherlock away, to make it easier for _himself_. So he could leave, without feeling guilty.

His dad wasn’t a fan of charity and had raised his son to also work hard and not accept hand-outs. He couldn’t imagine his dad would say yes to this opportunity. They would move again. Away from Sherlock. Away from Mike, this great school, the good team. His dad liked to control things too much. Allowing his son to stay here, away from the family was likely to be out of the question. John hadn’t even entertained the idea of accepting it. Everything had felt so good for a moment, for one brief week everything had been perfect. He should have known it was too much to hope for some good in his life.

He had almost given up, when in the distance, he spotted Sherlock coming out of a hallway exit, and rounding the corner… to the back bathrooms. He felt dread. _Please don’t let him be going to meet James. If he is, you did that. You pushed him to it._ He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. _You better hope you can fix this, you idiot. He’s the best thing to happen to you._ He straightened his crutches and moved as quickly as he could towards the bathrooms, his heart beating in his chest, annoyed that he was slowed down by this bloody ankle. _Please let it be nothing. Please let it be nothing._

He stormed into the bathroom. Well, in reality, he pushed the door open awkwardly while managing his crutches. He forced the door loudly and angrily. He could hear scuffling already in one of the stalls.

“Sherlock. I know you’re in there. Come out. _Now_.” He didn’t try to hide the anger.

The noises stopped suddenly.

“John?” Sherlock’s surprised and guilty voice came meekly from inside the stall.

“ _Now_ Sherlock!” he demanded. “You too, James. I’m assuming that you’re in there too.”

There was silence for a moment before James finally walked out, grinning with malice. Deliberately wiping his mouth to give John the worst possible impression. His clothes were dishevelled and he didn’t bother to straighten them. “To what do we owe this _pleasure_ John?” he drawled.

“Sherlock?” John checked, looking past James, back to the stall, ignoring James as best he could. He was here for Sherlock, he reminded himself. _Leave James alone._

Sherlock finally stumbled out of the stall, his shirt untucked, tie undone and hair a mess already. James hadn’t wasted any time at all it seemed. John looked Sherlock up and down, angrily but Sherlock couldn’t look at him.

“This has gone on long enough! Don’t you think James? And it stops NOW. Stay away from him!” John yelled, his voice bouncing off the bathroom tiles violently.

“What? Are _you_ going to make me?” James leered.

“Oh, I’d _like_ to,” John let out on a frustrated huff of air, eyes still on Sherlock who was still looking at the ground. “I’d _really_ like to. But no. I don’t need to. Sherlock’s _brother_ knows.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to John’s then in fear.

“You spoke to Mycroft?” James asked, and there was a hint of a shake in his voice.

“Mycroft spoke to _me_ in fact. Oh didn’t you know? I had dinner with him on Friday. He’s actually here at the school today. I could give him a quick call…” he offered, pulling his phone awkwardly out of his pocket in threat. “I believe he already knows all about you, James. Isn’t that right? And he was very interested to hear you were back. I understand that he had already warned you what would happen if you ever set foot near his brother again... and I have to tell you, he’s not happy about _this_. Not at all.” He finished his thought with a violent smile.

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. John could see a flicker of fear and doubt cross James’ face as he hesitated. He looked across at Sherlock who was shrivelling into himself. John felt ill looking at the state of him. He clenched his jaw tightly in anger and concern, his jaw muscle rippling. It was a warning to James.

“You’re going to get the hell out of here and leave him alone from now on. You understand?” John asked, in quiet anger, a smile crossing his face that had nothing to do with happiness. It was pure rage. “You won’t even _breathe_ in his direction any more, you snake.”

“Oh… I’m going to take that as a compliment,” James retorted without thinking.

“I wouldn’t. It’s _not_ ,” John said bluntly, looking him up and down with disdain. The anger was coursing through him and he was close to snapping point.

James smirked. “John, this is all very sweet, but you can’t always be around him to…”

Without hesitating, John threw his crutches to the floor, the loud crash startling Sherlock back to the situation in fear. John grabbed James by the scruff of his shirt and pushed him back against the tiles. Hard.

“Don’t even try me!” John yelled. He leaned his weight into James and used his arm to push against James’ neck and secure him against the wall, his breaths coming out in loud huffs of anger.

“John!” Sherlock yelled, but didn’t move from his spot, his eyes wide with fear.

When he’d caught his breath back from the impact, James let out a slightly nervous laugh, trying to maintain some confidence. An evil grin crossing his face.

“He’s off limits. Got it?!” John yelled into his face.

James took a few breaths, looking John square in the eyes, assessing the threat, before turning his head to look at Sherlock, who was much more alert now, watching the display frozen to the spot.

“Is that what _you_ want Sherlock?” he asked sweetly. John didn’t look over to check. But Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly. He could see it out of the corner of his eye and a small part of him relaxed in relief at Sherlock’s response, letting go of James’ neck enough for him to squirm free.

“Well, I see why you like him, Sherlock. He plays rough. I didn’t realise you liked it quite like that…”

“OFF LIMITS!” John bellowed again, James flinching back towards the wall for a brief moment before lifting his chin in defiance.

“Don’t try to love him, John. He’s unlovable. He’s damaged goods.”

John couldn’t stop himself. The punch connected with the left side of James’ face, knocking him to the floor. Blood began pouring out of his nose as he crumpled there for a moment. 

“Go and be a vile creature somewhere else. Just be glad I haven’t reported you to the Dean, or the Police. I just want you to stay the hell away from Sherlock. Or you’ll be answering to _me_ from now on.”

James checked his nose, finding blood on his hand. He looked at Sherlock and then back to John, without a word, assessing the situation.

“Are we done?” John checked.

“Fine. That’s fine. I’ve got plenty of other clients anyway. You’re not _that_ special, Sherlock. You’re certainly not worth _this_ ,” he said, trying to maintain his cool from his place on the cold floor.

“Get out. _Filth,_ ” John spat at him.

James stood up slowly, straightened his clothes and checked his face in the mirror. He grabbed a hand towel and wiped the blood under his nose, tossing it into the bin, before looking John up and down once more without a word and walking out.

Sherlock was still frozen in place, until the sound of the door finally closing seemed to snap him out of it. His legs buckled out from under him and he fell to the ground.

“Sherlock!” John yelled and hopped over to him without his crutches.

“John. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice full of remorse and confusion.

“Don’t be sorry. Are you alright?” he checked frantically.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me I just… you were just being so… and I just caved. I can’t seem to stop. When you… I thought you didn’t want me. I thought we were over.” He looked at John with sadness.

“Well that’s ridiculous. I’m going to _help_ you stop. That’s the first thing. We don’t need him any more - got it? And secondly, it’s my fault. I should be apologising. I’ve been distant. And angry. _I’m_ sorry. You’re important to me. You’re so important. I just… I don’t know how to… You’re so... and I’m just so… I don’t know how… and now that I’m supposed to be…”

“John, you really should learn how to finish whole sentences,” he teased.

“Well your sense of humour is still in tact, I see,” John retorted.

Sherlock smiled, and they sat together in silence for a bit.

“I’m sorry. About the scholarship. I didn’t know,” Sherlock finally said.

“I know. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was…” John shook his head. He had been a right arse.

“I get it. You’re worried about how your dad will react,” Sherlock replied.

“My dad…” John let out a big sigh, “has actually left the decision up to me. Which is so unlike him. Something about helping me to grow as a man and take responsibility. I just don’t know what he _thinks_ I should do, I don’t know if accepting the scholarship will make him proud, or disgusted.”

“Isn’t that a good sign that maybe he wants you to take the initiative and stay here? It’s the best school in the country. How could he _not_ want you to stay?”

“You don’t know my dad,” John said with an eye roll.

“No, maybe not. But I’m falling for his son. And I know what I want for _him_. Surely it has to be the same for your dad. I’m sure he loves you in his way.”

“You… you are?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Sherlock I…”

“Don’t John. You don’t have to say it back. That’s not why I’m saying it. I _know_ I’m difficult. I know there are things about me that are _far_ from perfect, despite what you think. And I don’t want you to stay for _me_. Because this thing with us... who knows if it will last. You have to do it for yourself. Because you _want_ to be here for your schooling. You deserve that.”

John sat with that for a moment. His feelings for Sherlock were strong. But were they love? He wanted to stay for Sherlock, but was it enough to stay _without_ Sherlock? If things didn’t work between them? Would he still want to be here at this school? He sat deep in thought. Sherlock watched his brain working overtime.

“And I’m going to just give you some space to figure that out.”

“No,” John said without hesitating. “I don’t want that.”

“I think it’s probably best,” Sherlock said, standing slowly and straightening himself up. John watched him, confused. He walked over and picked up John’s crutches, to bring them back and help John up.

“You know, you should have shoved one of these right up…” he began as he passed them over. 

“It was tempting,” John laughed. “Are you really okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock had put a very brave front on again but John could tell it was false.

“Sherlock…”

“Don’t,” Sherlock said, putting a hand up to John’s lips. John kissed it gently instead and Sherlock smiled. He leaned in and kissed John on the cheek.

“Just take some time to think about it properly. I’ll be here when you’ve decided.”

“Well not _here_ I hope,” John joked, getting himself settled onto the crutches.

“No, not here. I think maybe James might leave me alone now, thanks to you,” Sherlock smiled. “He was a weak spot I need to learn _not_ to rely on. A bad habit.”

“We all have those,” John agreed.

“Did Mycroft really speak to you about James?” Sherlock checked.

“Well yeah, that very first time I met him, sure. But not since, no.”

Sherlock smiled. “You had me fooled. Mycroft has always scared James.”

“I figured. He’s pretty intimidating. Even my dad was shaking in his boots.”

Sherlock laughed, and John joined in. Then the laughter died down.

“I’m going to go,” he said, breaking the silence, and nodding as he walked out the bathroom door, leaving John feeling his absence and wondering how he was ever going to make a sensible decision where that gorgeous man was involved.


	26. Chapter 26

John’s ankle was improving by the day. With some firm strapping, he was able to put the crutches down and do some light training with the boys. Not enough to play this weekend probably, but by next weekend maybe… if he was even still here then. The decision had been weighing on him all day. And watching Sherlock, sitting deliberately at the other side of the classroom from him for the rest of their lessons today, was extra torture. He knew Sherlock was doing it to give him some space, but he didn’t want space. Not from Sherlock.

“You two haven’t spoken all day John," Mike interrupted his thoughts. "What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” John said stubbornly.

“Yeah right. Sherlock’s sitting over there looking pretty upset. But he’s still _here_ , watching you,” Mike rebuked.

“Well, he has to be here. The coach needs him.” John couldn't help being difficult. He seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood today.

“No. He doesn't. They already sorted the plan - they did it during maths class today. You didn’t even notice he was missing for that, did you?” Mike teased.

John blushed as he realised he hadn’t, in fact, noticed. He was so caught up in his own head at that point, and his own anger about everything. He looked at Mike, and Mike could see the realisation dawn on his face. He tilted his head to show he was open to listening, to helping if he could.

John sighed heavily. “My dad has been posted somewhere new. I’m going to have to move on to a new school _again_. So, his brother paid for a scholarship for me to stay here. Fees and board, the whole lot.”

“And?” Mike pressed. John looked at him surprised that Mike didn’t see the problem.

“I mean, I already gathered that from the lovely conversation you two got into this morning – _cheers_ by the way for not telling me sooner that you were leaving.”

“Okay, I deserve that,” John agreed.

“So, what’s actually the problem? I still don’t understand,” Mike continued.

“Well, okay I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want charity from people – especially from _him_. I feel inferior enough around him without that. He's all gorgeous and rich and super smart and I'm... My life’s shit enough without…”

“John,” Mike sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’s pretty great, actually. I’d be _well_ chuffed if my partner loved me _so much_ that his family would help to keep me around - whatever the cost - so I didn’t have to move away. You know, so I could finish my schooling at one of the best schools in the country and still be together. I think that’s amazing actually.”

John huffed, and rolled his eyes, hoping Mike was joking. But Mike just held John’s gaze until he started to feel guilty. “I guess when you put it like that…” He glanced over at Sherlock sitting in the stands, looking down at his feet. He really did look miserable. “He said he wanted to give me space, to think about what I wanted to do.”

“He didn’t even have to be here this afternoon, John. He’s only here for you. I can’t believe you even have to stop and _think_ about this decision. Go over and talk to him, you berk. We’ve got this.”

“But…”

“John. Please. I can’t concentrate when my injured star player is in a bad mood and I’m watching my team analyst over there moping like that. It’s sad. Look at him. It’s kind of pathetic really. And you’re not focussed anyway. _Go_. That’s an order.”

John was mildly offended, but Mike was right. He was not on his game. And Sherlock _did_ look terrible. He walked across the field, towards the stands. Sherlock glanced up for a moment and realised John was coming over. His eyes darted down again, not able to make eye contact. Terrified of what might be about to happen. John flushed, knowing he was responsible for that - for the look on Sherlock’s face. He didn’t want to ever cause Sherlock pain, that was the last thing he wanted. And yet, he was causing it anyway. He jogged up the stairs carefully and found his way over to Sherlock, who still wouldn’t make eye contact.

“I’ve been reliably informed that I’ve been a bit of an arse,” he said as he sat beside Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn’t help smiling to himself and letting out a huff. “Well, I didn’t want to say…”

They both giggled and Sherlock looked over, giving Mike a wave, who was standing on the field, watching. Mike waved back and then got back into the training.

“He’s a good captain,” Sherlock finally said, still looking ahead and not able to bring himself to look at John.

“Yeah. He is,” John agreed, also looking at Mike. " _Big_ fan of yours.”

Sherlock blushed. “John I…”

“No, please. I need to do the apologising again, for this one," John began, and Sherlock finally looked at him which made him lose his train of thought. "Um… Sherlock, the things is, that I’m not used to having nice things, or having people who look out for me. It’s just always been me and my family. A dad who’s got a lot of issues - probably PTSD - and takes it out on his son, who he wants the best for really. But because of his job, we move around a lot and his son gets the raw end of the deal, a lot of the time. I’m not used to trusting people or relying on people and so,” he sighed heavily, “so it didn’t occur to me that it was a nice gesture - a romantic gesture even. I just saw it as charity and I don’t want pity or charity...”

“It’s _not_ charity," Sherlock interrupted, "I didn’t even have a say. Mycroft took it upon himself after Friday night. I didn’t know. But you _deserve_ to stay. I know that. You deserve to finish your schooling at a good school, so you can go on and be a doctor, like you wanted. And play with this team because they’re finally successful. And that’s in part, thanks to you. And…” he stopped suddenly.

John looked up at him. “And?”

They held eye contact for a moment, Sherlock deciding how much to say.

“And… I don’t want you to go. So, I’m _glad_ he did it. I’m not ready for you to go,” he said, his voice catching in his throat as the words came out.

“I’m not ready to go either,” John answered.

“John, I know it hasn’t been that long but… you mean a lot to me and...”

“I know. I feel the same way.”

Sherlock looked so relieved. “Okay.” He smiled. “I was so upset you might be leaving. And Mycroft… he can’t help himself. He had been wanting to put together a scholarship package for a student in need who is contributing to the college, and you stumbled into his path at just the right time. He’s doing it for me as well, but you deserve it completely. And I _want_ you to take it. I want you to stay. If I have any sway in this at all.”

“Of course. _Of course_ you do.” John reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s hand in his. “Oh Sherlock, I’m sorry I pushed you away. I don’t want you to stay away at all. I want the complete opposite.”

“Good. Because I’m stubborn, you know. I wasn’t planning on staying away,” Sherlock joked stubbornly.

John laughed and squeezed his hand. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

Sherlock smiled at John and he couldn’t resist. He leaned in and grabbed Sherlock’s face and kissed him properly for a moment. Every time their lips touched it was like the meeting of two halves of the same whole. There was something entirely electrifying and yet simple and right at the same time. Like coming home. He had missed it so much, getting to have that contact with him. 

“What I meant to say is… I’m crazy about you,” John said with a smile.

“What?” Sherlock whispered, his eyes still closed enjoying the sensation of the kiss.

“I’m crazy about you, Sherlock Holmes. And I don’t want to leave,” he repeated.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” Sherlock answered, opening his eyes.

“I’m just not comfortable with… accepting charity,” John added, letting go of his face.

“Not charity. It’s a legitimate scholarship,” Sherlock said smugly.

John sat back and gave him a dubious look. “Donated by my boyfriend’s brother? Come on! How’s that going to look?” Sherlock was already missing the contact between them.

“You… you think of me as… I’m your _boyfriend?_ ” Sherlock almost choked on the word.

“Well… yeah,” John smiled shyly. “Aren’t you?”

Sherlock sat for a moment before smiling back and nodding. “Yes. It's just that no-one’s ever called me that before.”

“Well get used to it. Apparently, I’m staying,” John said, grinning.

“Really?” Sherlock sat straighter, suddenly excited. “You’ll accept it?”

“Yes, all right. I don’t know what other choice I have. The boy I’m in love with wants me to stay,” and he rolled his eyes comically as if it was a great imposition.

“You’re really… you… you’re…” Sherlock swallowed hard.

“Forgotten how to form sentences now?” John teased.

“Come here,” Sherlock laughed and pulled him in for another kiss. It was short, and he stopped it abruptly, pulling John’s face away for a second. “Just to be clear… I’m _definitely_ in love with you too.”

“Good,” John answered, before leaning back in and kissing him again before he could say any more.


	27. Epilogue

Sherlock was stretched out on John’s dorm bed. Laid gracefully out on his side, resting his head on his hand and watching John get ready, his knees bent a little as his legs were too long. Somehow, he was gorgeous enough to make the school uniform look hot. John was distracted looking at him through the mirror, as he tried to tidy his hair and do his tie up.

“You really _are_ shit at tying that thing, aren’t you?” Sherlock teased, as John made a third pass at it.

“Shut up!” John said over his shoulder. “You know, you could get me in a lot of trouble being in here? If you get caught.”

“But it’s just too easy. You’re right here, and I can just come and see you!” Sherlock teased. “How could I resist?”

John relaxed and smiled. “It _is_ pretty good, yeah. But we’re going to be late and I blame you.” He had to agree it really was nice to be on campus. Sherlock always snuck in to visit before school or stayed late studying after school (and sometimes not getting much study done, to be honest). They had become inseparable the last few months. Sherlock had guided the team to a premiership win and this morning, there was a special assembly to honour the football team, which after years of trying to be reputable, had finally made it. John’s ankle had healed, and he had become the star they had hoped he would. Sherlock had brought the goods with his analytical skills and the coach had never been happier.

“Okay, then get over here, before we have to go down to the assembly,” Sherlock said, patting the bed suggestively.

“There’s no time for that now!” John moaned.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock grinned. “There’s _always_ time.”

“How does Mycroft even feel about this?” John asked, confused as he walked over to the bed.

“I told him we had to be here early for rehearsal for the presentations,” he said smiling wickedly.

“He _can’t_ be that gullible,” John said, sitting on the edge of the bed, not committing to the distraction yet.

“Sometimes he can be,” Sherlock nodded slowly maintaining intense eye contact the whole while. It was flirtatious and irresistible. “Besides, he was too worried about finding a suit that didn’t make him look fat. It was easy,” he laughed.

John couldn’t resist any longer and slid down onto the bed properly. Sherlock put his arms around John’s waist, pulling him closer. Their lips knew how to find each other, and they wasted no time. It had become like torture having to say goodbye in the afternoons and waiting until the next morning to be near each other again. Every opportunity they had to be close like this, was important to them both. Sherlock had gone from a virtual recluse to an overly affectionate puppy – ready for any attention he could get, and constantly glued to John’s side. He was even attending all the maths classes now just to have more time together.

John couldn’t help laughing as he thought about it, interrupting their kiss with a giggle. “Okay, really. We _need_ to get out of here,” he said. "If someone sees us together, they’re going to kick me out of this dorm. Scholarship over before it’s really begun,” John teased him.

“Fine,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Come on then.” He nudged at John to force him off the bed first, John reaching a hand out to pull him up off the bed too. They stood there holding hands and Sherlock kissed him one more time. “Let’s go.”

They put their blazers on and ran down the stairs.

“Oi, you two!” Mike yelled as he spotted them. “Are you serious? You two better not get caught. I’m not losing my two stars because you’re too loved up to stay out of trouble,” he teased.

“I was just saying the same thing,” John said, giving Sherlock a look.

“We won’t if you keep your mouth shut,” Sherlock teased back. Mike had got used to Sherlock’s blunt humour and never took offense any more. The three of them had spent many hours together discussing team strategy but also just as friends. Sherlock was constantly in awe of the fact that he finally had friends – the fact that they included the football team, was disturbing and amusing to him in equal measures.

“I am going to regret having you helping the team while you’re dating John, I just _know_ it,” Mike gave a heavy sigh. “Now hurry up. You’re late!” he nudged at them, looking them up and down as they started to head in to the hall. “And Sherlock?”

“Mmmm?” he stopped, to wait for his orders.

“Can you fix his tie? He really is shit at that isn’t he?” Mike said.

Sherlock laughed. “ _Told you_ ,” he said to John.

“Shut up!” John blushed. Sherlock grabbed at John - who tried to swat him away, embarrassed - but Sherlock held strong, grabbing at the tie again. As he undid it and fixed it, John finally stopped fighting it, and looked at him lovingly. This gorgeous boy was his, _all his_. He was mesmerised.

“Okay you two, enough of that,” Mike said, with an eye roll. “Don’t turn it into a moment.”

They snuck into the back of the hall and found two spare seats on the edge of a row. The principal was already talking to the full school, assembled together. Mike walked up further to sit in his place near the front, giving the principal a nod of acknowledgement that the team was all there now. John had tried so hard to be on time and he felt a little guilty that they had ended up making a late entrance. He had always prided himself on being on time for things, but Sherlock was a terrible influence. _A terrible but beautiful distraction,_ he thought. The student body was buzzing with excitement and teen hormones couped up together. The body odour was pungent, even this early in the day, with the lack of ventilation in the old hall. Teachers were frantically scanning the crowd from the side aisles, trying to ensure students were demonstrating best behaviour and observing the uniform policy, for their distinguished guests.

Mycroft was seated on stage, and Sherlock laughed under his breath. “See? He went for the dark suit,” he said quietly to John, who couldn't help giggling in response. Even from a distance, John noticed Mycroft levelling a stern look in their direction at their tardiness, and probably guessing what was amusing his brother.

As they sat side by side, John let his hand rest on the edge of Sherlock's chair, allowing their pinky fingers to touch. Sherlock was trying not to let a smile show and John’s heart was racing just with that little contact. It was all they needed to maintain a connection, without drawing attention to themselves. John let out a contented sigh quietly to himself, as they tried to focus back on the proceedings.

“We’re honoured to welcome the head of the school board, Mycroft Holmes, who will be presenting the medals as we acknowledge the achievements today of our football team,” the principal continued. “We also welcome Mr. Andrew Jamieson, chairman of the inter-school football league. Introducing football back into our school’s program has been a labour of love, initiated by the board and we are overjoyed that this year, our team have finally become premiers of the inter-school cup. Can we have the team up to the stage please?”

The rabble of students broke out into cheers and applause as the boys moved from their places to walk up the aisles. One student tried making a very unbecoming whooping sound before a teacher leapt in to stop it. John stood up and moved quickly to the front joining up to the back of the team as they took the stairs to the stage. One by one, the team shook hands with Mycroft and he placed a medallion around their necks. John was the last one and Mycroft shook his hand and gave him a very interesting look.

“Congratulations. You’ve really lived up to expectations, all round I think,” he smiled. “I’ve never seen my brother happier or more clear-headed and that’s thanks to you,” he said quietly as he leaned in to put the medal over John’s head.

John looked up at him, surprised. “He’s good for me too,” he replied. Mycroft nodded and looked over at the principal to signal that he was finished. John took his place beside the rest of the team as they received more applause from the school.

Mike leaned over to John, “What’s he doing down there, John? Sherlock should be up here! He needs to come up as well.” John was so focussed on getting up there, it hadn’t occurred to him to make Sherlock come too. He signalled to Sherlock to come up, but Sherlock shook his head furiously.

Mike noticed and stepped up to the microphone to speak on behalf of the team. “Sorry we’re missing part of our team, actually. Sherlock, can you please come up here as well?” he said with captainly command. Sherlock sank down into his seat, embarrassed, as some of the students turned to look at him. Mycroft’s eyebrows raised, not expecting him to be given the acknowledgement.

“Sherlock has been analysing our play and is responsible for our turn around. We owe this win to him. Get up here Holmes!” he called.

The students let out another cheer and one of the boys behind him gave him a nudge. “Go on," they urged. Sherlock walked up anxiously as everyone watched. It was the longest walk of his life, but as soon as he arrived, the team swarmed him and started cheering.

“That’s better,” Mike said, as the students settled their clapping to allow him to speak. “We’d like to thank our coach, who put in the hard work to drill us and of course our awesome principal for bringing football back to the school and sticking with us through our bad years. I think it was worth it,” Mike said with excitement, to more cheers from the students. The principal blushed and swatted at the air in embarrassment. “Our scholarship recipient and star player, John Watson, who has helped us lift our playing game – even if he missed half the season. You got us there in the end Watson,” Mike turned to flash him a smile. “And Holmes here, for pushing us to improve. And to the rest of this amazing team: you guys are family. And hey boys – we did it!” he yelled, holding his medal up, and the team let out another cheer, which was taken over by the school body, which spontaneously broke out into a loud rendition of the school song followed by more cheers.

The principal finally returned to the microphone to try and calm the proceedings down, despite how proud he obviously was. The team walked off into the wings of backstage as he continued his assembly with the more mundane matters. The chairman of the inter-school football league was invited to speak about recruiting more players for the next season – including trialling a girls' team as well, which was received with much excitement.

The space backstage buzzed as the team smiled and patted each other on the back, admiring their medals and trying not to drown out the speeches on stage.

“Right boys,” Mike directed, “the coach wants us all to go down to the sheds now. He has a celebration organised for us. We don’t have to go to period one and two today. So, let’s head down there now.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand, not moving.

“Come on you two,” Mike motioned, as he saw them standing back.

“In a minute,” John nodded, giving Mike the signal to leave them.

Sherlock looked at John, confused. “You okay?” he asked gently, searching John’s face for a moment, worried suddenly.

“Yes, all fine. I just wanted a moment with you, before we’re crowded again by everyone else,” he said as he pulled Sherlock further backstage into a darker more secluded corner, away from any prying eyes. He pressed Sherlock against the wall and grabbed his face to kiss him, and Sherlock hummed with delight at the contact. “I’m so proud of you,” he said as he kissed him again. “The team loves you,” he said, kissing his neck. “The coach loves you,” he kissed his jaw. “Mike loves you,” he kissed his nose, “and I love you. _So_ much,” he said, as he took Sherlock’s mouth again greedily. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s back and enjoyed the tingles and butterflies dancing around inside him as his favourite person just lavished him in affection. He had never realised how amazing it could feel, and how much he had needed that. “You’re just… _perfect_ ,” John said, stopping to level a serious gaze at him.

“ _Nobody’s_ perfect, John. Don’t be ridiculous. And I’m _certainly_ not,” Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes, but blushing at the very thought that John felt that way about him.

“Maybe not,” John sighed, nodding back. “But you’re perfect for _me_ and that’s all that really matters.”

They sank back into another kiss. John was sure he was never going to get sick of kissing this boy.

“We should get moving before someone catches us here. And we don’t want the team talking,” Sherlock said finally.

“I’m pretty sure they’re already talking. We’re a pretty adorable couple,” John said with a giggle.

“Yeah we are,” Sherlock agreed, but gently nudged him back off the wall, to get them started in the right direction. “Come on you. You’re coming to my place for dinner tonight anyway, remember. There’ll be plenty of time for more of that later,” he said with another suggestive smile, and he grabbed John’s hand to pull him towards the exit door.

John couldn’t believe his life was finally right. Everything was just how he wanted it to be. After years of struggling, years of never finding his place, he was finally settled and succeeding. And he had an amazing boyfriend by his side.

They were two slightly imperfect souls, perfect together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! 
> 
> Thus ends my ten fics in ten months in the tenth anniversary year of BBC Sherlock!
> 
> If you're attending HolmesCon this week, you can bid on me to write you a 15k Johnlock fic!  
> Excited to find out what my next project will be!


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